


Healing Mortal Wounds

by Accident, detafo



Series: HealingMortalWoundsVerse(DetafoAndAccident) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternative First Meeting, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accident/pseuds/Accident, https://archiveofourown.org/users/detafo/pseuds/detafo
Summary: Sherlock goes to a therapist for a case and gets more than he bargained for...DI Lestrade decides to be brave and finally ask out the Government but will he get more than he bargained for as well?
Relationships: Anthea/Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: HealingMortalWoundsVerse(DetafoAndAccident) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166864
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22
Collections: Detafo and Accident's (FuckOffWatson) RP Collabs





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading this new RP fic from Detafo and myself! Updates a few times a week till we’re caught up!

John pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Melinda, please send in my next appointment?"  
He looked at his schedule. A new patient. He gathered a new folder and some new note paper, fixing them up in a patient folder, and waited patiently as he clasped his hands on his desk, smiling benignly.

“Yes, Dr. Watson.” His assistant nods to the man in the chair. “The doctor will see you now, Mr. Holmes.”  
Sherlock stands and goes through the door, closing it behind him. He looks at the doctor and walks over to the empty chair.

"Mr Holmes." John greeted him, smiling. "My name is Doctor Watson, but you're free to call me 'John', if you prefer."

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock flashes a winning smile before sitting, crossing his long legs. “Thank you for fitting me in on such short notice.”

John leaned back in his office chair and smiled. "Well, we try to cater to the needs of those who require it. How may I help you, today?"

“I found you online while searching for help for my.. Desires.” Sherlock says tamely. “What do you do exactly?”

John raises his eyebrows. "I'm sure you've read my online profile." He muses. "But as a refresh, I predominantly help with sexual orientation and gender identity, though I do help with couple therapy, and with mental health."

Sherlock hums and nods, looking the doctor over. Former military, favors his right shoulder, bored but content with his small busy practice. This wasn’t the therapist Sherlock’s suspect had seen previous to the murders. He sighs, might as well get his hours worth. “Get a lot of confused nutters? Bored housewives whose husbands can’t make them orgasm? Repressed religious zealots?”

John chuckles. "Neither you nor I are here to talk about my other clients, Mr Holmes. We're here to talk about you. Do you want to tell me what you're here for?"

Sherlock smirks a bit, amused so he decided to be truthful. “I have a hard time connecting emotionally with people because they’re boring predictable petty creatures who only see me as a freak.”

"And why do you feel they see you as a freak?" John was in full professional mode. He smiled slightly. "There is no judgement here, Mr Holmes. I speak with many people who don't think they can connect with others, but find that that particular belief isn't true. You only need to attune yourself their frequency, and train them to do the same for you, until you find a happy medium."

“I have no problem tuning myself when it suits my needs. I can act any way I need to get what I need from people. I’ve been told it’s shocking and captivating to watch. I know things normal people don’t. I can see so much that everyone else is blind to. It’s their world. I’m just living in it.” Sherlock shrugs. “I’m definitely a freak.”

"I see." John steepled his fingers. "Well, it's no feat to attune yourself where needed. I work with people who believe they can't, and people who do on a regular basis, to get what they want... you seem to be the first I've worked with who will consciously try to do so." He pursed his lips. "What would you say your... *real* personality is? Not this fake persona you're giving me right now, but deep down, at the centre of your core?"

Sherlock scowls a bit. “This is me.”

John raised his eyebrows. "Oh, well. I apologise." He says, simply. "Shall we change the subject?" *Since you're obviously not comfortable with this line of questioning.* "You said you found me while researching your desires? What desires are those?" He smiled again, a free, easy smile that invited one to share their concerns.

Sherlock shrugs. “I.. I’m good at acting. At using people. But it’s lonely..” He looked away, that was too honest and he knew it.

"You're good at acting." John reiterated. "Have you ever tried to be yourself?" He looked curiously at the man. "I don't mean in your youth, I mean now, in today's *medio ambiente*?"

“Rarely. It’s better that I don’t.” Sherlock uncrosses his legs and crosses them the other way.

John frowns. "And... why is that?"

“It’s just better.” He sighs. “Easier. Less painful.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying all this to this man who is a virtual stranger.

John smiled softly. "Why do you believe that is?" He asked, genuinely curious.

“Caring is not an advantage.” Sherlock looks at John.

"Is that your honest opinion?"

Sherlock nods. “It’s what I’ve come to live by.”

"You've *come* to live by it, but is it your honest opinion, or something you've garnered off somebody else?" John raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock looks away. “It’s just better this way, John. No one gets hurt.”

"Mr Holmes... Sherlock, May I call you Sherlock?" John smiles encouragingly. "Tell me your honest opinion of me. No sugar coating. Plain as can be."

Sherlock seems thrown by this. “You’re a doctor. A good one by the number of patients in and out of the office and how relieved they look after they go. You served in the military but were injured. Probably why you were sent home. Sexuality and gender therapy is odd though. Something you experienced in your youth. Perhaps a friend or family member not accepted for their identity spurred you on to learning all you can and making a safe space for them. You push people just enough to where they really think but not enough to break them open. For all intents and purposes a good man.”

John raises his eyebrows. "Hmm..." He murmurs. "Good deduction." He adds, making notes in his file. "I was sent home from the RAMC due to being shot in the shoulder, though it was mostly the mental issues it left me with, that sent me home." He chuckles. "As for the family or friend not accepted.... it was me." He smiles softly. "You're right, I do push people to the breaking point, but it is up to them to burst through."

“You?” Sherlock sounds surprised. “There’s always something.” He laughs softly.

"Did I manage to surprise you?" John chuckles softly. "First it was my sister who wasn't accepted, and then myself a few years later. Neither of us talk to our parents any more, no matter how many times either of us try to keep the peace." He shrugs. "There's many reasons why people come to this kind of therapy, but I'm gathering that you don't quite know where you belong when it comes to sexual orientation."

“I don’t think I’ve ever had those kinds of feelings for anyone.” Sherlock files the information on John away for later.

"Perfectly normal." John smiles. "Having no sexual feeling, or even romantic feelings for another doesn't mean you're broken, Sherlock." He cocks his head to the side. "There are those who identify as Aromantic/Asexual, or Aro/Ace. If that's how you feel, then you can label yourself as you like. But if you'd like more time to think about it, decipher things, I do have a few books and pamphlets here for your perusal?"

“I tried a few times to get close to people in my youth. Apparently I was a poor judge of character back then or maybe I just wanted anyone to like me. It never turned out well so I stopped trying.” Sherlock nods. “Alright.”

John nodded and opened a drawer, picking up a few booklets and pamphlets on Aro/Aces, plus some singular leaflets for information. "Here." He murmurs, handing them over. "These might help?"

Sherlock takes them, holding them carefully as if he was afraid of the information they contain.

John smiled reassuringly. "We're almost out of time, Sherlock... is there anything you'd like to ask me? No barriers... ask me what you like."

“You.. when I deduced you you didn’t call me names or tell me to get out. You praised it. Why?” Sherlock looks at him, completely confused.

John frowned slightly. "Why..." He paused. "Why would I call you names? Or eject you from my office?" He asked, genuinely confused.

Sherlock frowns as well. “Because that’s what people normally do.”

"Normal people aren't psychologists, Sherlock." John says, kindly. "I don't take offence to the things you say, hell... I take them on board and think about them sometimes. But... you weren't wrong."

“I usually only tell people what I’ve deduced about them when they’re rude or arrogant or if I just want them to go away. I tend to focus on the not particularly nice things. Insecurities, infidelities, things like that.” Sherlock shrugs. “With you there’s none of that. You’re very self assured and confident. If anything you’re a bit bored here even though you’d never admit it and the PTSD makes it hard to sleep more nights than not.”

John chuckles softly. "Well, I also asked you to deduce me as plainly as you could, and that was certainly justified." He smiles. "You're right... My PTSD does make it hard to sleep most nights. Nightmares of the battlefield are not anything I'd want to spring on anyone, even on my worst enemy." He shrugs. "But luckily I have coping mechanisms for that. What coping mechanisms do you have, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked away, he didn’t want to tell John that. He didn’t want John to think differently if him, to not like him.

"Sherlock," John coaxes. "Please, tell me? Perhaps I can help?" He frowns. "Or is it something you don't wish to admit to? Something unsavoury? Illegal?"

Sherlock looks at the time and stands. “Our hour is up.”

"Next time, then." John smiles, amiably. "Book with Melinda at the front desk."

Sherlock nods and goes to the door, his hand resting on the handle and the other holding the pamphlets. “Thank you, John.” He says softly and then he’s gone. Against his better judgement he makes another appointment before leaving.

John nods and smiles as Sherlock leaves.


	2. Two

Two weeks later, he smiles, seeing Sherlock's name on his roster. "Melinda, please send Mr Holmes in." He murmurs through the intercom.

Sherlock soon strolls through the door, sitting down. “Hello, John.”

"Hello, Sherlock. Great to see you again." John smiles genuinely. "Did you get a chance to read those pamphlets I gave you?"

“I did. I didn’t have enough data to say if that was me or not though.” Sherlock had read them and done his own research.

John smiles. "Well, there's only so far reading will get you." He mused. "And what about the question we left unanswered? What is your coping mechanism?" He holds up a hand. "Before you leave in a huff, I want you to know that I am under complete doctor/patient confidentiality. I can't tell anyone what you tell me here, without risking my license as a psychologist and psychotherapist."

“I’m sure all the notes you’ve written on me have already been thoroughly assessed.” Sherlock shrugs. “I keep busy.”

"Yes, I researched your name on the internet. Found your blog. Very interesting stuff." John chuckles. "But I want to know what helps you, *chemically*, Sherlock." He looked serious for a brief moment. "Morphine? Cocaine? Heroin?" He took a breath. "I'm not completely versed on drug addiction, though I did pass my studies. If you need help getting off the sauce, I can recommend a co-worker to help you through it."

“I’m clean.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

John looks at him steadily. "And yet, I think you use it to stimulate your mind."

Sherlock’s eyes narrow. “And if I do?”

"No judgement." John holds up his hands in self defence. "I'm merely stating a fact." He smiled slightly. "As I said, I'm bound by the doctor/patient confidentiality rule. I won't narc on you... I can hardly be a pristine character witness to that." He chuckles softly. "But, I can see you have a quick mind, and when you're bored... you.... look for stimulation. I can understand that."

“Cocaine.” Sherlock sighs.

John merely nodded. "It was known to be a good stimulant back in the days before we knew what was good for us." He gave a small smile. "Why are you *really* here, Sherlock? I don't think it's for self discovery. After reading your blog, I think it has much to do with some case or another you're currently stimulating yourself with, hmm?"

“It was. I solved it already. You’re not the type of therapist who manipulates hallucinating patients into killing their families.” Sherlock smirks.

John starts, then chuckles. "No... not my scene, thankfully." He cocked his head to the side. "If the case is closed... why did you come back?"

“I.. I don’t know. I think I came back to figure that out.”

John raises his eyebrows. "Well, I'm more than happy to help you figure that out. That all said, I would like to see your case written up somewhere. It'd make interesting reading, but also perhaps something to study for future generations of police and psychologists alike." He chuckles softly.

“I get bored after they’re figured out.” Sherlock shrugs.

"*You* get bored." John corrected. "But other people don't have your way of thinking. I, for one, would be absolutely intrigued to get an inside scoop on the thought process behind my fellow psychologist - or ex-psychologist, should I say." He laughed. "But, we're both here about you, Sherlock. Tell me what you're thinking about."

“If you want to join me on a case you can. Write it up for all I care.” Sherlock shrugs. “I’m thinking that the people they have working at Scotland Yard are completely idiots and it’s a wonder how any crime at all gets solved.”

"While that is a tempting offer," John chuckled. "I don't believe it would be... entirely ethical. You psychologist working for *you*, to write up a case you solve."

“Not for me. With me. Your education and military background could be quite the advantage on cases.” Sherlock looks at him.

"You appear to have thought this through." John chuckles.

“Maybe.” Sherlock smiles, glad John isn’t freaked out if disgusted at Sherlock’s suggestion.

"Sherlock, as long as I'm your psychologist, I can't do this kind of stuff with you. It breaks more than enough legal barriers even discussing the idea with you." John smiles sadly. "I'm sorry. You sell quite the business proposal, but ethically.... I really can't."

“Fine. Don’t be my psychologist then.”

John laughs quietly. "If it were that easy, Sherlock..."

“I have connections that could get you around all the red tape. In fact I could probably get you hired to be my full time psychologist with double the pay you make right now.”

"Ethics, Sherlock." John chides with a smile. "Also I can't leave here... I helped start this place." He smiled apologetically. "I love the enthusiasm, I *do*, but... I can't just make it happen *like that*," He snapped his fingers.

“You underestimate me.” Sherlock shrugs and sits back. “But fine we’ll play your way for now.”

John chuckles. "Our hour is almost up. Is there anything you'd like to ask me, pertaining to your personal issues?"

“I can have sex. That’s what I needed more data for.” Sherlock says.

John pauses, frowning. "If you knew the answer, then... why did you seek another appointment?"

“What do you think I’ve been doing for two weeks? Experimenting.”

John frowns again. "But... you could have cancelled today's appointment." He asked, quietly.

“Why would I do that? You’re much more fun than hooking up with idiots.” Sherlock sits up.

John is confused. "Let me get this straight... you booked my services to make sure I wasn't a murderer... during the interim of appointments, you solved your case, and yet came back to see me... so as not to let me see people who might really need my services... all because you deduced that I'm bored in my job, and would rather be doing anything else with my time, oh, and also scout me out for a job as... what? Your personal biographer?"

“My partner.” Sherlock stands and sets his card on John’s desk. “Our hour here is up but if you want more time, address is on the card. Good day, Dr. Watson.” He winks at John and strolls out.

John quirks and eyebrow and waits till Sherlock has left, before picking up the card. He stares at it confused. He still has three appointments before the end of the day, so he slips the card into his trouser pocket until he's finished work for the evening.  
Later, he frowns at the business card, before sending a text message to the number.  
*What is it about **me** that causes you to want and/or need a partner?* - JW

Sherlock’s reply came quickly.  
*I believe that us partnering will be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both of us.-SH*

John's brow creased.  
*It's my day off, tomorrow. Meet me at **Desmond & Molly Jones Coffee House** tomorrow at 9am. You can argue your case there.* - JW

*As you wish, Doctor.-SH*

The next day, John yawns as he accepts the black coffee, no sugar from the barista. He smiles thankfully, knowing their job can be far more stressful than his. He leaves a 2 pound tip in the jar to compensate for his grumpy morning persona.

“Not a morning person, Dr. Watson?” Sherlock drawls as he sweeps up next to John.

John jumps slightly. "Usually am." He grins. "Bad night's sleep."

“Should prescribe yourself something for that.” Sherlock smirks. “Busy?”

"I'm a psychologist, Mr Holmes, not a psychiatrist." John laughs quietly. "Busy night's sleep? No, not really... PTSD dreams." He shrugs.

“Seen a lot of gruesome things? Dead body’s I’m sure?” Sherlock inquires.

John blinks. "Mhm. Yes."

“Want to see more?” Sherlock smirks.

John's lust for his army days broke free. "Oh, God, yes."

Sherlock grins and leads John out. They spend the day looking at crime scenes and bodies and racing around London chasing suspects. At the end of it they end up back at Sherlock’s flat, laughing at the bottom of the stairs. “So what do you say, Dr. Watson? Partners?”

John giggles, quite unable to stop. "Yes, all right... partners." He grinned. "Though I'll have to cut back on my hours at Marigold House..."

“Hire another doctor.” Sherlock starts up the stairs and stops half way. “Move in with me.”

John chuckles. "Moving a little fast, aren't you?" He murmurs, though he can't help but appreciate the man's honesty.

“It’s closer to your clinic and our work. Easier for you to get around. There’s a spare bedroom and everything.” Sherlock nods to John to come up.

John wills his stiff leg to make the 17 step journey to the apartment. "Tell me honestly, Sherlock," He said, sitting heavily in an armchair with a Union Jack pillow. "Why did you seek me out?"

“For a case at first and then you were interesting and..” Sherlock tails off. “You made things not boring.”

John raised his eyebrows. "Is that the full truth, Sherlock?" He asks.

Sherlock sighs. “You’re nice.”

John laughs. "I'm nice? You haven't seen me on a bad day, mate." He chides, in a friendly tone. "I can swear, curse and bitch with the best of them." He swallows. "What's the rent like?"

“You’re nice to me, John. I can count the number of people who are nice to me on one hand.” Sherlock says quietly. “The landlady gives me a deal. We can afford it.”

John thought of his army bedsit. "All right. I'll trial it." He acquiesced. "One month. But if it doesn't work out, I'm gone."

“Agreeable.” Sherlock nods. “Come up for tea and I’ll have Chinese delivered.”

John smirks and settles back into the armchair. "You make a convincing argument." He shook his head.

“I usually do.” Sherlock grins, sending a text before going to the kitchen to flip on the kettle.

John chuckles quietly. He liked this man.

Sherlock soon comes back with tea.

John accepts the cup and smiles slightly. "So..." He mused. "Here we are."

Sherlock nods and sits across from John. The flat was a mess but also somewhat contained. “Indeed.” He sips his tea.

John sips his tea. "Mm..." He wrinkles his nose. "Sorry, I should have said... I don't take sugar."

“Sorry. I switched them.” Sherlock hands John his cup.

John huffed a laugh and swapped the cups. "I think you did that on purpose." He teased.

“Perhaps.” Sherlock smirks.

"Why, though?" He raised an eyebrow.

“Testing.” He hums.

"Testing what?" John asks. "Am I part of an experiment?"

“Not an experiment of sorts. Learning you more like it.”

John snorts. "And... You can't ask me?"

“Your bias would taint the data.” Sherlock shrugs.

John frowned. "Mmm... I don't understand."

“You think you know but it’s biased. What you think can be different than what is.”

John shakes his head laughing. "Scientists." He mutters, rolling his eyes. "What else have you learned about me, then?"

“That despite your hideous jumpers trying to hide your body you’re actually quite physically fit. You took Stapleton down with no problem. Though the exertion tires your injured shoulder.”

John raises his brows. "You hate my jumpers." He stated, smirking. "My shoulder was injured in Afghanistan. Shot."

“I know. Most likely a sniper while you were trying to rescue a fallen comrade.” Sherlock nods. “Though I haven’t seen the scar I assume entry from the back to the front.”

"Very good. Through and through. Five millimetres to the right and it would have been fatal."

“Coward.” Sherlock sets his tea mug down when someone knocks in the door. “Whoever shot you was a coward. If you're going to kill someone at least have the decency to look them in the face as you take their life.” He stands and goes to retrieve their takeaway.

John felt his hackles rise at the word 'coward', and was about to contradict, before Sherlock continued. He settled slowly back into his chair. "War is Hell." He murmured.

Sherlock brings up two bag fills of food. He wanted to see what John liked and didnt. “I’ll get us plates.” He sets the bag down on the coffee table and goes to the kitchen.

John smiles and opens the bags, the smells making his mouth water. "Peking duck... Dumplings, plum sauce? You certainly went all out."

“They have one of the best selections around.” Sherlock smiles, handing John a plate.

John chuckles, spooning a portion of rice, sweet and sour pork, and spears two dumplings. He left the shrimp alone, and ginger fish.

Sherlock watches, collecting data as he fills his own plate.

John smiles and eats slowly. It's been a while since he had rich food, and didn't want to excite his stomach.

“You live very reserved.” Sherlock hums as he eats.

"I make peanuts at the practice, and my monthly army pension barely covers rent and bills." He shrugs.

“Then our partnership and living here will help substantially.” Sherlock smirks.

"I've already agreed to a trial month, Sherlock." John smiles slightly. "I will have to go back to my bedsit to get a few things."

“I can have them collected if you’d like.” He offers.

John chuckles softly. "You don't want me to leave?" He asks. "Should I be worried?"

“Maybe but you won’t be. You know what I do is dangerous work but you're accustomed to danger. You thrive in it.” Sherlock smirks.

"No, Sherlock. Should I be worried about *you*?" John's psyche training was kicking into gear. "I thrive on danger, yes. But is there something you're not telling me?" He leaned forward to put the empty plate on the coffee table.

“If you’re asking, Dr. Watson you already know.” Sherlock forks a piece of orange chicken and eats it.

"I know there are several things you're not telling me. But, I'm specifically asking*why* don't you want me to leave tonight?" John kept his voice gentle, consoling. "I'm not angry, I'm only concerned."

Sherlock looks away. “Danger night..”

"Danger ni...oohhh." John nods in understanding. "You prefer company so you don't go out and try to score?" He nodded again. "I would prefer if you were honest with me. But I will stay."

“I want to get high. The gnawing and craving is there but less so when you’re around.”

John looks surprised. "Oh." He smiles softly. He put a hand on Sherlock's arm. "Well, I'm happy to help."

Sherlock nods stiffly. He wasn’t used to this. Spending time with someone who seemed to do more than just tolerate his presence.

John smiles. "Shall we do something? A board game? Cards? Some crap tele?"

“I win at cards every time.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Mmm... And you don't cheat? So modest." John chuckles.

“Knowing is not cheating.” He smiles a bit.

John snorts. "Have you got a pack of cards?"

Sherlock nods and stands, picking a pack up from the mantle.

John takes them with a grin, shuffling them expertly with his left hand. "Now... Have you played Golf? The card game, not the retiree favoured sport."

“No, I don’t think so.” Sherlock watches him.

John set up the game and they went through it slowly so Sherlock could pick up the gist of it.

Sherlock nods, he loses the first round but the ones after he wins consecutively.

"Beginners luck." John says after losing a fifth game. He chuckles softly.

Sherlock chuckles. “If you say so.”

"You'd make a good poker player." John says after a moment. "Damn good poker face, at least."

“No card house in the UK will admit me.” Sherlock smirks.

"Now, why doesn't that surprise me?" John laughed, sitting back comfortably. "How very much like Henry Sugar. Without the whole... Seeing through things angle."

“I see enough as it is.” Sherlock laughs.

"Mmm, so I've heard." John chuckles. "A very observant chap, if playing cards with you is anything to go by."

Sherlock nods and shuffles the cards. “I wonder if it’s better than going through life being ignorant to everything.”

"I'm ignorant of a lot of things." John chuckled softly. "But I do okay."

“Hardly, John. You’re more observant than most.”

John snorts softly. "Thanks, I think." He muses.

Sherlock smiles.

John bites his lower lip in a slight indication of not knowing what to say. "So..." He says after a moment. "Crap telly?"

Sherlock nods, moving over to the couch.

John joins him a moment later and smiles. "Movie, or game show? I honestly don't know what else is on right now except for soaps and the news..."

“Mm movie. You pick.” Sherlock hands him the remote.

John raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "Okay..." He muses, bringing up the list of movies available. Scrolling through for a moment or three, he finally decides on a repeat of *The King's Speech*. "Always had a bit of a thing for Firth." He admitted with a small smile.

“Oh?” Sherlock looks at him. “He is quite.. dashing.” He agrees. “I did like him in *Mama Mia*.” He chuckles.

"You don't strike me as the type to ... voluntarily... watch musicals." John said with a grin. "I mean, I don't disagree with you. He was quite good."

“I liked the mystery of figuring out who the real father was.” Sherlock snorts.

"Sam." John said, immediately. "But I like they all shared the duty."

“So you’ve seen it too.” Sherlock smirks.

"Many times." John laughs. "My mother played ABBA a lot when my sister and I were small... I loved the new arrangements."

“You can tell a lot about a person in how they arrange music.” Sherlock nods.

"Mhm." John leans back against the couch, full of food, and enjoying the company.

Sherlock relaxes, his cravings getting less by the moment.

The movie plays, John relaxes more and more, glad to have found a happy medium for him and Sherlock.

Sherlock curls up on his end of the couch, feet tucked up under him.

John looks over at the lank man and chuckles. "I'm taking up your headspace on the couch, aren't I?" He teases.

“Physical or metaphorical?” Sherlock looks at him.

"Err..." John shrugged. "Both?"

“Six of one, half dozen of the other.” Sherlock shrugs.

John snorts. "Shall I move back to the armchair so you can stretch out?"

“No. This is good.” Sherlock nods.

"You sure? You look a bit cramps, all curled up in the corner like that."

“Fine.” Sherlock spreads his legs out over John’s lap.

John starts slightly, but relaxes again, putting a warm hand on Sherlock's ankle.

Sherlock slowly relaxes, willing himself not to blush.

As the movie progresses, John seems to doze off, feeling comfortable, warm and ... *home*

Sherlock starts to watch John more than the movie.

As the end credits start to roll, John's chin falls against his chest and he snores softly.

Sherlock slowly and carefully takes his legs from John’s lap.

John snuffles softly, but doesn't wake. It has been a long day, after all.

Sherlock gets up slowly and gently tuck the blanket from the back of the couch around John.

"Hmm?" John mumbles, half asleep.

“It’s alright. You’re safe.” Sherlock helps him lay down on the couch.

"Mmm..." John sighs and lays down. "'kay..."

Sherlock gently brushes his hair back and watches him fall back asleep before going to his own room.

As the night progresses, so to John's ever-present PTSD dreams. He struggles in his sleep, sweating and gasping for air, until, in his mind, there is a roaring gunshot, and he shoots up on the couch with a cry, his chest heaving, sweat soaking his clothes, and his breathing rapid. He sits up and buries his face in his hands, trying not to cry. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck..." He whispers.

“John?” Sherlock calls softly, making noise as he comes out. He didn’t want to scare John. “It’s okay. You’re alright.” He slowly makes his way to the couch.

John jumps at the sound, his sleepy haze making him believe he was still in his bedsit. "What?!" He squeaks, before realising who was talking. "Oh.... Oh, Sherlock... I'm.... I'm sorry..." He gulped air. "Bad dream."

“It’s alright. I thought you might given the new environment.” Sherlock had put pillows around the couch in case John had fallen out of the couch he’d have something soft to land on. “Just take slow breaths for me.” He kneels in front of John.

John clenches his hands to his eyes, taking deep breaths and humming as he exhales, agitated that he'd had such a massive attack while sleeping on a couch.

Sherlock gently takes John's hands from his eyes and holds them. “You’re safe. You’re at 221B in London. Only you and I are in the building as well as our elderly landlady who’s taken her herbal soothers for the night.”

John takes a deep breath once more, staring into Sherlock's eyes as he wills his heartbeat to slow down... it seems to be doing a bad job.

“It’s okay. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” Sherlock says softly, rubbing his thumbs soothingly over John’s wrists as he subtly feels his pulse.

John finally gets his breathing under control and nods, slightly, though he's still trembling and sweating from the dream. "Okay..." He whispers hoarsely.

Sherlock nods and stands. “Make us some tea.” He says, kicking the pillows aside before going to his messy desk.

John was disconcerted for only a moment, before he gripped onto the 'order' and got up, ruffled and sweaty clothes sticking unpleasantly to his skin. He took off his jumper in an effort to cool himself down and went to the kitchen, hoping the familiar act would calm his racing pulse.

Sherlock opened his violin case, picking up the instrument and bow. Quietly he started to play.

John feels his discomfort melt away. Whether due to the familiar dance of making tea, or Sherlock's music, he was unsure.

Sherlock faces out to the window, watching the dark street as he plays.

"I'm sorry I woke you." John said, softly, as he brought the tea mug into the sitting room. "That's a lovely tune."

“You couldn’t have woken me because I had yet to sleep.” Sherlock says once he finishes the late note.

John shrugged and sat in the armchair he'd occupied earlier in the evening. "Well, I still apologise for disrupting your routine."

“We’re flatmates. We will learn to coexist.” Sherlock sets his bow down.

John swallows. "You sure you want an ex-army captain with severe PTSD living with you, Sherlock?" He gives a self deprecating grin.

“You sure you want an ex-addict with severe sociopathic tendencies living you with, John?” Sherlock answers back.

"I deal with ex-addicts and sociopaths almost daily, Sherlock." John smiled tiredly. "You're not as sociopathic as you make out to be."

“Would you like a list of people who disagree with that notion? You can have it alphabetized or by date.” Sherlock snorts.

John snorted softly. "Do any of those people spend time with you, or is it merely something they can call you so they *don't* have to spend time with you?"

“I..” Sherlock blinks, he never thought of it like that before. He always thought he was the problem not the other way around.

John smirks, sipping his tea. "I'll let you think about it." He muses.

Sherlock hums and sits in his chair, picking up his mug to warm his hands. “You’re good, Dr. Watson. Be sure to bill me for after hours.”

John laughs quietly. "I don't think I can keep treating you if we live together." He smirked. "Bit not good. Frowned upon in most societies. You can make it up to me in favors, perhaps."

“Perhaps.” Sherlock sips his tea to hide his smirk.

John is too tired to realise exactly what he said, so he just chuckles. "I suppose I'd better get these old bones up to bed." He mutters.

“Right up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson cleaned and put fresh sheets on the bed today. Temporary toiletries should be there as well until your things are here.” Sherlock nods.

John nods and waves tiredly, heading toward the stairs. He sleepily strips down to his vest and pants and gets between cool, clean sheets, settling easily into the comfortable mattress.

Sherlock stays up and plays his violin, choosing soft soothing melodies.

John's dreams are filled with Debussy and Vivaldi, chasing away the dusty landscape of Afghanistan.

Sherlock only goes to bed when John’s snoring indicates a steady REM cycle.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys settle in a little more...

Late the next morning, John is woken by his phone buzzing. He stretches, yawns and looks at the time.  
"SHIT." He leaps up, putting on yesterdays clothes. "Hey, Melinda..." He answers the phone. "No, no... I slept in. Bad night's sleep. I'll be in in half an hour.... Um... comp Col. Moran's session, reschedule. Tell him I apologise." He cringed. "See you in thirty." He hangs up.  
He did up his shoes and practically thundered down the stairs, muttering 'shit' under his breath the entire way.

The flat was quiet, Sherlock curled up on the couch asleep.

As John was -mistakenly- making his way back to his bedsit, a black car pulls up alongside him as he walks. He raises an eyebrow. "Sorry mate, not a rentboy. Just a fella walking home from work."

“Get in the car, Dr. Watson.” A voice from within drawled.

John coughs. "How do you know my name?" He asks, stopping and looking at the car.

“You were in the army, Captain Watson. You should know how to follow orders by now.” The car door opens.

John takes a breath. "I was made Captain because I followed my instincts. What makes you, a shadowy persona, think I'm going to get into a strange vehicle with you, just because you ask?" He frowns and makes to keep walking, forcing the voice's proverbial hand.

“You think you’d be more curious given your new flatmate.”

John huffs out a sigh, and slides into the car's interior. "You take a lot of chances, trying to engage a former army captain." He muttered.

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you. All I want is to make a deal with you.” The man in the three piece suit says.  
*Come at once if convenient.-SH*

"I don't make deals with shady blokes in three piece suits." John says calmly. "Wars get started that way... don't want to fight in another one so soon. Sorry to disappoint." He looked at his phone, remembering he was now living far away from his bedsit. "Care to drop me at the nearest tube station then?"

“I could make it worth your while. Very worth your while. Nothing you’d feel guilty about sharing. Just general information.” The man assures him.  
*If inconvenient come anyway.-SH*

John curls his lip in disgust. "I'm a psychologist by trade. Any information, general or otherwise, that I might share with known or unknown parties would get me fired *and* blacklisted from all reputable psycho offices. No matter the sum, you're barking up the wrong tree, as well as barking mad. Now let me out of this damned car."

“You’re very loyal, very quick, Dr. Watson.” The man muses as the car pulls up outside the tube station.

"I don't appreciate being asked to go against the oaths I took." John smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Bye." He got out of the car and headed down the stairs.  
*At 221B? I got stopped by some 'interested party'. Know anything about that? -JW*

*Yes 221B.-SH*  
*Did they offer you money to spy on me?-SH*

*Know him, do you? -JW  
*Pompous blowhard in a three piece suit. -JW*

*We could have split the money. Think it through next time.-SH*

John snorted as he got on the train.  
*Friend of yours, then?-JW*

*Archenemy of sorts.-SH  
*Are you coming?-SH*

*On the train. Started off toward my bedsit. Forgot. It's been a long day.-JW*

Sherlock doesn’t text back. Instead he puts the finishing touches on dinner.

Half an hour later, John opens the door to 221B, hanging his jacket by the door. "Something smells good." He calls.

“It’s dinner.” Sherlock hums, plating dinner.

John smiles. "So, what is for dinner then?"

“Based on the temperature outside and your rocky day I chose roast beef with potatoes and carrots.” Sherlock shows him the pan with the gorgeously arranged meat and vegetables.

John felt his face soften. "You buttering me up to stay longer than a month?" He chuckles. "Because I might consider it."

“If cooking is what gets you to stay then I may cook more than a few times a year.” Sherlock chuckles.

John laughs quietly. "Guess I need to brush up on my cooking skills, then."

“Trying to keep me too?” Sherlock snorts, handing John his plate.

John took it with a smirk. "Well, if you only cook a few times a year, one of us will need to keep us fed." He teases. "This smells delicious.”

“There’s takeaway. Plus Mrs. Hudson cooks sometimes when she thinks I look particularly thin.” Sherlock shrugs, setting his plate on the table. “Open this will you?” He hands John a bottle of wine and an opener before turning to get glasses.

John nods and opens the bottle of red with care, pouring a small amount into each glass. "You've got it all figured out, then."

“For the most part.” Sherlock shrugs. The table was cleaned off and set for dinner. In fact the entire flat had been cleaned, while it still was chaotic, it had an organized chaos to it.

John looked around. "You cleaned, too." He mused. "A for effort." He cut up his beef and savoured the taste. "This is really nice. Thanks, Sherlock."

“Don’t mention it.” Sherlock sips his wine to hide his blush.

John smiles. "So, what did you do today? Aside from cleaning and cooking this gorgeous meal?"

“Took Mrs. Hudson to her physiotherapy appointment, she’s trying to stave off a hip replacement. Answered a few emails about boring cases. Took a walk and paid a visit to some informants.” He shrugs.

John nodded. "You care for her a lot. She's a lucky woman." He smiles.

“She’s a good woman. I love her more than my own mother, don’t tell Mummy. I made sure her husband was put away.” Sherlock hums as he eats.

John smiles. "I'm sure your mother isn't all that bad. She raised you."

“She has the emotional range of a non Newtonian fluid except when it comes to maths.” Sherlock snorts.

"Ah, so that's where it comes from." John teased, gently.

“Mm, no. Most of my emotional scarring comes from adolescent romantic misadventures and the correct cruelness of my elder brother.” Sherlock shrugs.

John felt his eyebrows twitch. "Oh." He murmured. "Who was the lucky girl to fall for your charms?"

“I was far less charming in my youth than I am now.” Sherlock chuckles.

John laughed, ignoring the easy deflection of his question.

“I’m sure you have no trouble picking up chicks.” Sherlock teases the lingo.

John snorts. "My nickname in the RAMC was Three Continents Watson... But that was then. No one wants a broken soldier."

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Sherlock looks at him.

"Broken, PTSD suffering, shot... No one wants to deal with all that in a romantic light. I'm only good enough for a shag and maybe breakfast."

“I think you’re far underestimating your own worth because your view of yourself is biased and quite frankly completely unfairly slighted against you.”

John laughed and sipped his wine. "You'd make a fine psychologist."

“I can’t stand people who lie to themselves about their lives.” Sherlock shrugs, forking a potato.

John shook his head. "What makes me so special then, hmm?"

“You’re not lying. You truly believe what you think about yourself.”

John shrugs. "Bit of a sad sack when not at work." He placed his knife and fork on his empty plate.

“Human, John.” Sherlock stands. “Seconds?”

"Not right now. That was very good though. Thank you." John smiles.

Sherlock nods and takes their plates to the sink. He rolls up his sleeves and puts away the leftovers.

John watches him. "Do you need help?" He asks. "Should I make coffee?"

“Coffee would be good.” Sherlock nods as he starts on the dishes. “I was thinking we could take a walk and get some cannolis.”

"Sherlock..." John asked, frowning. "Is this... Is this a date?"

“No.” Sherlock frowns. “Why? Does it feel like one?”

"A... Little." John smiles. "I don't mind."

“Oh.” Sherlock blushes. “I apologize. I didn’t know. I’ve never been on a date.”

John smiles. "What about your romantic endeavours as a teenager? Not even then?"

Sherlock shakes his head. “People don’t usually want me around because of the whole freak thing.” He shrugs.

"And I told you, they call you that so they have a reason to not be around you. It's their utter loss." John put the coffee on the bench.

“Mm.” Sherlock just hums.

"Drink your coffee." John chuckles, sitting in his armchair.

Sherlock finishes the dishes and goes to the sitting room, carrying his coffee.

John sat back in his chair, relaxing his tense shoulder.

“Alright?” Sherlock asks, sipping his coffee.

"Mm... Old wound playing up. Whenever I get tense. It starts bothering me."

“A warm bath might help.”

"Mmm warm showers will be better." John smiled.

Sherlock nods. “Go ahead. There’s some muscle rub in the cabinet as well.”

"Thanks." John smiles and stands stiffly. "I suppose my things are upstairs?"

Sherlock nods. “Everything is just as you had it.”

John nodded. "Thank you." He smiled and headed up to his new room, quickly gathering toiletries and pyjamas, before going to the bathroom.

Sherlock sips his coffee, enjoying the warmth. He gets up and starts a fire in the fireplace, taking the chill out of the flat so John’s shoulder doesn’t tense back up. He sends a text to have some cannolis delivered.

John comes out, throwing his clothes in the hamper and toweling his short hair dry. "Much better." He stretched. "A fire. Lovely."

“Thought this would go with it.” Sherlock pouts them a few fingers of whiskey. “Dessert is on the way.” He hands John a glass.

"You're very kind to me... I'm little more than a stranger to you." John murmurs, taking the glass and wincing at the pleasant burn.

“I know enough.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Tell me." John asks.

“You’re smart, brave, and kind. More than enough.” Sherlock shrugs.

John laughs softly. "I suppose." He murmured.

Sherlock smiles and goes downstairs to bring up dessert.

John's staring into the flames, sipping his whisky.

Sherlock comes up and drops the box into John’s lap.

John starts. "Oh, thanks..." He smiles.

Sherlock nods and sits back down.

John eats his cannoli thoughtfully. "These are good." He smiles. He sighs.

“I’m glad you like them.” Sherlock smiles.

John looks at him. "All right, what's going on?"

“Nothing.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Sherlock." John looked at him steadily. "I can pick a liar."

Sherlock sighs. “The man in the car was my older brother. Today’s detour will certainly not be the last.”

John paused. "Is that it?" He asked softly. "I mean, you've slaved over a lovely meal that takes at least four hours, you're plying me with good wine, better whisky, and cannolis for dessert. I feel like there's something else hanging over our heads."

Sherlock looks away, guilty.

"Sherlock. Talk to me." John said, voice gentle.

Sherlock stands and picks up a box from the mantle, handing it to John. Inside a syringe and a vile.

John takes the box, opening it and looking at the contents. "Another danger night?" He asks, softly.

“No actually. It’s a gift from an old dealer. Not accepting it would have offended him which would be an unsafe and unwise decision. It’s been making me feel.. guilty? All day.” Sherlock doesn’t look at John.

John nods. "Why would a dealer... Give you a gift like this?" He wonders aloud. "Seems... Suspicious."

“I got him off a murder charge by proving he was in another city selling drugs. These gifts are his gratitude for not being locked up for murder.”

John frowned. "How long ago was that?"

“About a year and a half ago.”

"And he's only sending you gifts of thanks *now*?"

“No. This is just the first since I stopped using.”

"Why is he *still* sending you gifts?" John shook his head. "Getting someone off a murder charge doesn't equate to several thousand pounds of liquid cocaine. *And* who knows what this is cut with, if anything."

“There may have also been a territory dispute I helped settle between him and a rival dealer that ended in his favor.” Sherlock frowns. “I test them before I use them to make sure. I’m not an idiot.”

"I'm not saying that you're an idiot." John assures him. "Just that..." He sighed. "I don't know." He rubbed his brow.

Sherlock’s insides felt squirmy. “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. I’ll do better.” He says quietly.

John shook his head. "I'm not leaving Sherlock. I'm worried." He smiled slightly.

“I’m not going to use. I’m clean. I promise.” He shows John his arms, his sleeves still rolled up showing old faint scars.

John nods. "Webbing between fingers and toes." He says, softly. "I'm a doctor. I like to be thorough." He studied the man. He certainly didn't look like someone who would inject into his groin or penis, but how could one tell? He decided to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt in that case.

“It was only ever my arms. I could hide them easy enough.” Sherlock pushes his sleeves back down. “Besides I never cared who knew I was an addict. Their opinions didn’t matter when I was high..”

John nodded. "All right." He said. "I believe you." He smiled. "I want you to get rid of *that*, though." He pointed at the box on the table, where he'd left it.

“Fine. Toilet?”

"Good." John nodded.

Sherlock picks up the box. “Want to watch?”

John nodded and followed him back to the bathroom to watch, and make sure the substance was gone.

Sherlock pours it out and flushes it.

John smiles. "Have you got a sharps container for the needles?" He asked.

“Under the kitchen sink.” Sherlock nods.

"Dispose of it, then. I'm sorry, but I don't trust needles from drug dealers."

“They’re not really the most trustworthy lot.” Sherlock nods and goes to dispose of the needle.

"Now. Is there anything else I should know before I turn in for the night?" John asked, grinning. "Nothing in the bread bin that might jump out and bite?"

“If the mold cultures jump out and bite you I think that’s a much different issue.” Sherlock chuckles, feeling so much better. Lighter even.

John laughs. "I'll make sure to get breakfast at the cafe downstairs, then." He muses. "I'm going to bed... Work tomorrow."

Sherlock nods. “Goodnight, John.”

"Good night, Sherlock." John smiles, patting the man's arm again. "I'm proud of you." He heads upstairs.

Sherlock nods a bit stiffly, hoping John was gone by the time his blush completely consumed his face.

John lays in his bed and settles against the pillow. Sherlock was a good man, he could tell. He sighs softly.

Sherlock goes to his violin and picks up it, playing peaceful lullabies.

John falls asleep, pictures of Sherlock and himself running through his mind, accompanied by soothing melodies.  
As the night goes on, his dreams become ardent and he wakes to find himself groping his half hard cock. Flushing, embarrassed, he tries to go back to sleep, but his erection refuses to abate. God, he hasn't felt like this since his teens and early twenties...

Sherlock’s playing had changed, something a bit somber tinged with longing.

John heard the music, feeling his use race. As if guided by an invisible force, he strokes himself in time to the music, biting his lip against making noise. *Christ, how embarrassing...*

Sherlock swayed as he played, getting lost in the music. If anyone saw him they’d say he was making love to that violin rather than playing it.

John moaned softly, stroking.

The playing slowly picks up, the climax building.

John huffs, keeping time with the music, feeling his orgasm beginning to tighten in his gut.

Sweat was forming on Sherlock’s brow now, his eyes shut tight as the strokes of his bow became erratic.

John cries out as he comes harder than he can remember, aftershocks tingling along his extremities, chest heaving, pulse thudding. "Holy shit..."

Sherlock pants, slowly lowering his bow and violin into their case. He finishes his whiskey and goes to bed, his bedroom door closing with a click.

John quickly gets up, changing out of soiled pajama bottoms and into fresh ones, before flopping on the bed again and falling asleep.

Sherlock makes sure to be up the next morning and making noise to make sure John gets up for work on time.

John wakes up groggily. He looked at his watch, muttering a curse as he got up and dressed in record time. He hurried downstairs. "Morning!" He called. "Can't stop. Going to be late!"

“Coffee and food on the table downstairs!” Sherlock calls out, a travel coffee mug and a brown paper bag sitting on the table next to the door.

John laughed at the sight, put on his coat, grabbed the items and practically sped out the door, the events of last night forgotten.

Sherlock spent the day experimenting.

John came home. He was tired, a bit grouchy. There had been a couple's fight worthy of Jerry Springer, his coffee maker had broken, and Melinda had called in with a family emergency.

Sherlock was hunched over his microscope as he had been for probably hours.

John sniffed as he came in. No smells of cooking. "Fish and chips?" He suggested. "My day was absolute bollocks. I think the bright spark was that roast beef sandwich you made me." He smiled, tiredly.

“Have a shower and I’ll have it delivered by the time you get out.” Sherlock nods.

John smiles and heads off to shower. Later, he comes out with a towel knotted around his waist as he makes his way to the stairs.

Sherlock is coming up from the door. “Dinner had arrived.”

John nodded and gripped the towel tighter, giving a smile. "Down in a sec." He says.

Sherlock hums and nods, going back to his microscope.

John comes back down in his pajamas. He sits heavily on the couch and rubs his eyes.

The bag of food was sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch as well as a pint that would go with the meal perfect.

"I swear to God, you must be trying to butter me up for something." John chuckles, opening his portion of food. He turns on the tele and puts some mindless soapie - Eastenders? Home and Away? He wasn't sure. They all bled into each other, these days - and slowly ate his food. Looking up, he calls out. "So, what's so interesting about that microscope you've been looking at since I got home?"

“Epithelial cells that have been soaked for varying periods of time in water samples from different points on the Thames. Depending on the saturation a man’s alibi hangs in the balance.” Sherlock responded without looking up.

John nods, as if he understands. "Ah..." He breaks off a piece of fish and chews on it. "You eating anything?"

“Not tonight no.” He hums, changing slides.

John frowns. "I'd feel better if you did." He wheedles, softly.

“Slows down brain work.” Sherlock retorts.

"Sherlock." John raises his eyebrows. "Do I have to ask Mrs Hudson to come in and bully you? Or god forbid you're scary brother."

“You wouldn’t dare.” Sherlock finally looks over at him.

"Try me." John raises his eyebrows. "I've had a shit day. Eat something, or I'm going downstairs."

Sherlock grumbles but finally comes over. He sits next to John and starts to eat. “Quite underhanded of you, Watson.”

"I do what I have to do to make sure the people I care about survive." He freezes.

Sherlock sighs. “Fineeeee.” He says petulantly and makes a good show of eating for John. John cares about him?

John watches him eat. "When I was in Australia," He mused. "They'd put chicken flavoured salt on their chips.... it didn't actually taste like chicken, but it was very nice. He a certain... spice to it. I brought some home, but it got taken by Customs." He snorted.

“Oh? I don’t think I’ve ever had flavoring on chips.” Sherlock smiles, liking to hear about John’s life. “So is Australia one of your continents?”

John snorts. "From the stupid nickname? Probably. I don't know. It was the other lads that gave me that name." He grinned. "I've been to...Africa, Australia... North America...." He pauses and laughs. "I guess it is, then."

“Conquering your way around the world.” Sherlock hums.

John snorts. "I had a way with the ladies. I may have even accepted their advances once or twice, but the nickname mostly came from all the girls trying to win my affections when on leave. The lads didn't like that they had to play second fiddle." He chuckled.

“I believe the kids these days call that being a ‘man whore’.” Sherlock chuckles.

"Oi!" John laughed. "I didn't sleep with EVERY person that caught my attention. Haven't slept with *you* yet." He coughed. What on earth was in that pint?!

Sherlock looks at John and blinks. “Oh. Well then.” He wasn’t expecting that.

John blushes beet red and refuses to look at Sherlock. "I.... should probably go to bed." He mutters lamely.

Sherlock frowns. “You don’t have to.”

John, still looking as though he could fry and egg on his forehead, didn't look at him, but sat silent.

“So what if you’re attracted to me. Doesn’t change anything.” Sherlock sits back, picking at his food.

Despite his red face, John's heart seemed to plummet. "Well..." He coughed. "Thank god for that." He managed a passable smile and sipped his beer, feeling like a class A fool.

“It’s your rule. The whole doctor thing. Then again you’re no longer my doctor.” Sherlock shrugs.

"True..." John bit his lip. "Never get involved with a patient..." He gave a tiny smile. "But, surely you're not interested in me?"

Sherlock blushes. “I..”

John shook his head. "'Course not." He muttered, mostly to himself. "Why would you be interested in a broken soldier." He got up and paced over to the mirror above the mantle, trying to get his face to rid the blush.

Sherlock frowns. “I don’t know how.”

John looks at Sherlock, reflected in the mirror. "Does anyone really know?" He asks.

“I’ve never liked anyone John.” Sherlock looks away. “You say you’re the broken one but I don’t have feelings for anyone.”

John blinked. "I'm broken because of war experience." He muttered after a long moment. "What happened to you, Sherlock?" He was genuinely curious.

“I don’t think I ever worked in the first place. But in uni it was broken for sure.” Sherlock sets his food down, what little appetite he had gone.

John turns around. "I'm sorry if I shocked you." He swallowed. "If you want me to leave here, I'll get started in the morning...." He paused. "Or if you wanna talk about it? Sometimes seeing things from a different perspective can help?"

“I don’t want you to leave. Everything I’ve done since I met you is to get you to stay.” Sherlock sighs. “I had a.. well he called it boyfriend but in actuality he was my pimp.” He looks anywhere but at John.

John faltered. "Sherlock..." He said, softly. "How long were you.... *have* you been... involved in .... selling yourself?"

“Were. I haven’t been made to do it since uni.” Sherlock says quietly.

John looked at him quietly. "Was it consensual?" He asked, softly. "Did you agree to it?"

“As much as anyone who’s high and willing to do anything to please the person supplying them with attention and more drugs.” Sherlock shrugs.

John felt his chest tighten. "Sherlock..." He whispered, softly.

“Shut up, John. I’ve never taken pity before and I’m not going to start now.” Sherlock stiffens.

John shakes his head. "I'm not offering pity." He says. "Though I must say I might hunt out this dick and shoot him, if you didn't fully consent."

“My brother has already sorted that all out.” Sherlock frowns.

John huffed derisive laughter. "Good for him. The twat in the three piece suit, who looks like he's never seen the field."

“You’d be surprised. I’m sure you two would have a lot of story’s to swap even though I’m sure he knows all of yours.” Sherlock snorts. “So I.. I don’t know what to do with feelings. I’ve never been good at them and people take advantage of my wanting to be liked and I do think you’re very handsome and I want you to stay really bad because for the first time in forever I’m not bored and you’re nice and you’re good for the work and you’re good for me and oh god John I can’t stop talking shut me up.”

John strode across the room, leaned down to Sherlock's height on the couch, grabbed him by the upper arms and pressed his lips desperately to Sherlock's.

Sherlock groans and kisses him back.

John sighs, contentedly, into the kiss. He wraps his arms around the sitting man's neck.

Sherlock tugs John down onto the couch, pulling John on top of him.

The smaller man moans, pulling back slightly. "Sher...Sherlock..." He pants.

“Mm?” Sherlock whines as John pulls back.

John almost cries at the loss of contact, despite his initiation of it. " Should...... should we be doing this?" His eyes said he wanted to continue as long as this thread continued, but he worried about his new flatmate. What if he didn't want to?

“John, I am of perfectly sound mind and body, if you don’t go back to kissing me I will not be so sound.” Sherlock pants.

John laughed softly and pressed his lips to Sherlock's again.

Sherlock sighed relieved as he kissed John back.

John feels his trousers shift as his cock swells. He moves his lips to Sherlock's shoulder and nips and bites him there softly.

Sherlock gasps and arches into John.

John bites again, humming and licking the indent his teeth make on Sherlock's skin.

“John.” Sherlock moans softly.

"Hmm?" John murmurs.

“Mark me?” He licks his lips.

John chuckles softly. He'd been asked this before, but had always hesitated. "You sure?" He mumbles against the other's skin.

“Completely. Please, Captain.” Sherlock purrs.

John whines at the title, sinking his teeth into Sherlock's neck, breaking skin, tasting blood. He moans loudly, holding his teeth in place for a moment longer so it may scar.

Sherlock cries out, moaning loudly as he comes hard in his pants.

John feels the warmth spreading over his groin and abdomen, his cock still hard as steel. Carefully, he extracts his teeth and looks at Sherlock. "S-sorry.." He mutters.

“My fault. I haven’t come in years.” Sherlock licks his blood from John’s mouth.

John looks at him, confused. "You.... don't masturbate?" He asks, softly.

“I try but I can’t manage to get myself off.” Sherlock shrugs, terribly vulnerable. “Can I?” He reaches for John’s waistband.

John's breath hitches, but after a moment, he nods. "Okay..."

“I’m clean. I promise.” Sherlock mumbles as he slips his hand into John’s pants.

"It's not that." John gives a small smile. "I... haven't had a man's hand down there since early Afghanistan...."

Sherlock nods. “Just close your eyes and breathe. I’ll take care of you.” He says softly, gently wrapping his hand around John's cock.

John whines, but follows instructions, closing his eyes. "Sherlock..." He breathes. "*Christ, Sherlock!*" The warm hand around his cock sent electric sparks up his spine.

Sherlock leans in, slowly kissing and sucking on John’s neck as he strokes him.

"Sher.... *Sherlock*." John groaned, grinding his shoulders into the man beneath him as he enjoyed the sensations being rent from him. "God, *FUCK!*"

Sherlock presses the top of his tongue against the spot where John’s neck meets his shoulder and he twists his wrist on every up stroke.

"AAAHHHhhhhhh!" John doesn't take long to come hard, and he slumps against Sherlock, panting. "Fuck..."

“Perfect.” Sherlock holds John and gently let’s go of his spent cock, licking his hand clean.

John pants against Sherlock's bleeding shoulder. "Jesus..." He mutters.

“Not quite.” Sherlock snorts softly, nuzzling John’s hair.

John laughs softly. "Better." He mumbles, licking at Sherlock's shoulder, the tang of blood making his frown slightly.

“It’s alright.” Sherlock says softly.

"You have to let me disinfect and patch it up." John said, guilty.

“Yes, Doctor.” Sherlock kisses him.

John laughs softly. "Let me up?" He murmurs, after a moment of enjoying the bodily warmth.

“Oh right.” Sherlock blushes a bit and let’s John up.

John giggles softly and presses a chaste kiss to Sherlock's mouth. "I'll be back." He says, softly, getting up and heading to the kitchen, where he'd seen a first aid kit under the sink with the sharps disposal container.

Sherlock blushes and watches John.

John comes back with the kit. "Sit up for me?" He asks, softly, before taking the antiseptic and wiping it over the mark, wincing at the obvious sting. Grabbing a piece of gauze and some medical tape, he fixed it expertly over Sherlock's shoulder. "There..." He whispered. "Done."

“Thank you.” Sherlock blushes, not used to being taken care of like this.

John smiles softly. "My fault." He grins.

“I wanted it.” Sherlock smiles shyly at him.

John laughs quietly. "We're both to blame." He says, amiably.

Sherlock smiles and nods. “I think I should go umm change my pants..”

John smiles. "Probably."

Sherlock nods and stands, going to change.

John does the same. He pulls on a clean pair of pajama bottoms, noticing his washing has been done (Thanks, Mrs H) and folded neatly on the bed to be put away. He hadn't noticed before, too exhausted from his bad day.

Sherlock comes back out to the living room and paces a bit. He didn’t know what to do now or what the protocol was.

John heads back down stairs. "You... Alright?" He asks.

Sherlock jumps, not having heard John come down. “Fine. Fine.” He nods.

John smiles. "You're wearing a track in the rug with all that pacing." He points out. "Usually a sign of stress or discomfort."

Sherlock blushes. “I umm.. I don’t know what to do.”

John nods. "Do you want to go back to your microscope?" He asks.

“I..” Sherlock shakes his head. “What do people do after..” He makes a gesture between them.

"Well..." John smiles. "Probably go to bed... Cuddle... Talk." He shrugs. "What would you feel comfortable with?"

Sherlock blushes and nods. “I’ve never.. never done that before.”

"Slept with someone? Just... Sleeping?" John asks.

Sherlock nods. “There’s.. there’s never been an after sex anything. They just.. leave.”

"Sherlock, that's being a sex worker. And there's nothing wrong with that. You've never..." He thought about how to word it. "Have you ever had sex just to be close to another person? No money changing hands?"

Sherlock shakes his head and then stops. “Just now on the couch..”

"Oh... Sherlock..." John feels... God, he doesn't know. "And... How did it make you feel?"

“I was high. The whole point was not to feel.” Sherlock shrugs. “Oh you mean just now? Amazing.” He blushes brightly.

John chuckles. "It was great for me too." He admits.

“Yeah?” Sherlock smiles.

"Oh, god yes." John chuckles. "Certainly made my day much better."

Sherlock grins. “Maybe we can keep umm doing things?” He looked so painfully shy.

John chuckles. "Sure." He murmurs, crossing over to him.

Sherlock smiles softly, relaxing.

John smiles. Sherlock looked so adorably shy. "Here? Your room? Mine?"

“Up to you.” Sherlock nods.

"Come up to my room." John smiles. "We don't want to disturb Mrs Hudson." He added cheekily.

Sherlock blushes and giggles, following John up to his room.

John closed the door behind them and smiled at the taller man.

Sherlock smiles shyly. “I am at your mercy.”

"Oho..." John chuckles. "That's something I don't hear every day."

“I trust you.” Sherlock says softly.

John smiles. "Come over here." He took Sherlock's hand and led him to the bed, pushing him down gently.

Sherlock does as he’s directed, thankful for the direction.

John gently runs a hand up under Sherlock's t-shirt, dragging fingers over his abs, circling gentle fingers over the jut of his hip bones . The other hand plays with the drawstring of the man's pajama trousers.

Sherlock blushes, letting John do as he likes.

"Alright?" John asks, softly.

Sherlock nods. “Good.”

"Let me know, okay?" John smiles gently. He massages Sherlock's groin softly, tracing the shape on his cock, and his other hand circles gently around his nipples.

Sherlock gasps and arches a bit, his nipples so so sensitive he has to wear extra soft shirts.

John chuckles. "Like that?" He murmurs.

Sherlock blushes and nods, he didn’t know he liked things.

"Talk to me, Sherlock." John prompts. "I want to hear you."

“I-I like how you touch me.” Sherlock looks at him, rubbing John’s sides.

John smiles. "Good," He murmurs. He gently pinches Sherlock's left nipple, watching him closely, before his other hand comes up to help him get his shirt off.

Sherlock moans and his head tips back, letting John take him out of his shirt.

John throws the shirt aside, hurrying to take off his own, leaning in to lick Sherlock's overly sensitive nipple, a chuckle in his throat.

“John.” Sherlock holds onto him tight.

"Mmm?" John presses him to lie down on the bed, but doesn't raise his head.

“Feels good.” Sherlock pants.

John chuckles and bite gently.

Sherlock whimpers softly, arching.

John looks up, grinning, before dipping his head and licking a trail down Sherlock's stomach.

Sherlock pants, watching John. He didn’t know what to do being on the receiving end of attention.

John hums, sucking little love bites into the pale skin, hands pulling at the waistband of the pajamas to free Sherlock from the confines.

“I like this. Like your mouth and hands. You’re warm.” Sherlock babbles. He knows it’s not sexy but his brain is taking in too much information to be sexy right now.

John giggles softly, nuzzling at the thatch of dark hair at Sherlock's groin, looking up at him. "Trust me?"

Sherlock blushes and nods enthusiastically.

John smiles and takes the head of Sherlock's cock in his mouth, gently suckling.

Sherlock gasps and whimpers, his hands going to John's hair. No one had ever put Sherlock’s cock in their mouth before.

John groans softly, beginning to bob his head as he feels Sherlock's cock harden.

Sherlock’s hips twitch, wanting to thrust into John's mouth.

John places his hands on Sherlock's thighs, enjoying the taste of the man.

“John John John John johnnnnnmn.” Sherlock moans, his cock starting to leak.

John pulls his head up and grins, lips swollen and red, his navy eyes almost black with desire.

Sherlock pulls John up by his shoulders and kisses him hard, licking into his mouth.

John groans into his mouth.

Sherlock pulls back and pants, looking John over. He looks at his scar and leans in, inspecting it. Before John says anything Sherlock kisses it.

John twitches, still very reserved about the scar that spreads across his left pectoral and shoulder blade. But, a moment later, he sighs in acceptance.

Sherlock touches it gently with his fingertips and then his nose and finally his tongue.

John's breath hitches at the sensations. Some of the nerves were dead, but not enough to not make him feel the touch of the man.

Sherlock licks the scar and then John’s arm and then John’s neck, cataloging the different textures.

John inhales loudly. "And I thought I was teaching you..." He said, softly, a smile on his face.

“Mm?” Sherlock blinks. “Oh.” He blushes and smiles.

John laughs softly. "You're beautiful."

Sherlock blushes brighter, his lips parted, speechless.

John raises an eyebrow. "You don't get told enough." He added, leaning forward and capturing him in a deep kiss.

Sherlock moans and melts into the kiss. “I don’t get told at all..” He mumbles against John’s lips.

John pulls back. "Well, I plan to fix that." He grins.

“Yeah?” Sherlock lips his kiss swollen lips, blush over his face and neck, his hair frazzled perfectly.

"Mhm..." John grins, stroking a hand through Sherlock's hair. He grins cheekily and ducks down again, taking Sherlock down his throat slowly, pausing to allow his gag reflex to pass.

“Ohhh yessss.” Sherlock whines.

John hums around Sherlock and pulls almost all the way off, before diving in again.

“Close.” Sherlock warns, his cock throbbing.

John swallows against Sherlock, seemingly wanting to suck his very soul through his cock.

Sherlock cries out, his cock pulsing as it ejects ejaculate into John's mouth and down his throat.

John swallows him down, moaning at the taste.

Sherlock breathes hard, arm flung over his eyes.

John helps him through the aftershocks and pulls away, looking up at him. "You look beautiful." He croaks.

Sherlock blushes and giggles. “I want to taste my cum in your mouth but I can’t seem to move so you’re going to have to come up here and kiss me.”

John laughs quietly and crawls up Sherlock's body to kiss him.

Sherlock kisses him back, gently pushing his tongue into John’s mouth. “You can roll me over and fuck me if you want.” He mumbles.

John pulls back, looking at him, seriously. "Are you sure?" He asks, softly.

Sherlock nods. “I want to feel you inside me.” He wanted to feel what it was like to have someone who actually cared about you fuck you.

John sighs softly in acceptance and smiles. "Roll over. I'm going to prep you properly."

Sherlock grins and rolls over, spreading his legs wide.

John, taking his pillows and pushing them under Sherlock's hips, leaned over to open a drawer and pull out a bottle of lube. He looks down at Sherlock and smiles slightly. Putting the lube down, for now, he leans forward and nuzzles the cleft of Sherlock's arse, spreading the cheeks with his hands and blowing warm breath against the man's anus.

“John?” Sherlock gasps softly and turns back to look at John

"Shhh..." John smiles. "Just enjoy this."

Sherlock raises a brow, confused, but lays back down.

John chuckles and presses his face forward, swiping his tongue over the tight pucker, worming the tip in slightly and pulling back, encouraging the man to relax.

“Oh my god!” Sherlock’s yelp is quickly turned to moans.

John chuckles again, repeating the motion.

“J-John.. your tongue.. inside me.” Sherlock resists the urge to push back for more.

John hums in reply and slowly begins to insert a forefinger as well.

Sherlock is a moaning mess, no one else ever prepared him before.

John raises his head. "All right?" He asks, working the man open.

“What are you doing that’s making this feel so good?” Sherlock whimpers.

John chuckles. "Going slowly." He murmurs. "Has... no one ever did this for you before?"

Sherlock shakes his head.

John feels his face darken. "Don't worry, love.... I'll take care of you."

Sherlock blushes brightly at the pet name and just nods, completely out of his depth but trusting John totally.

John pistons his finger gently, waiting a moment and pouring some lube against their coupling so that he can slide a second finger in. "Relax for me, sweetheart."

Sherlock takes some deep breaths, focusing on John’s touch and voice as he relaxes. All these pet names were making him euphoric.

John chuckles softly, scissoring his finger, gently at first, working the man open.

“If you didn’t already make me come I’d be on the verge of orgasm right now.” Sherlock mumbles, his cock already making an attempt to get hard again.

John grinned. "Give it time, love..." He murmurs. Now, three fingers deep, he thrust his hand into Sherlock's arse in slow, tantalising shifts.

“Uh.. uhuh.. huu..” Sherlock makes little broken sounds at each thrust of John’s fingers.

"More?" John hummed.

“More. Please John.” Sherlock begs.

John enters his fourth finger, spreading and flexing the digits within Sherlock's eager hole.

“Oh John!” Sherlock moans.

"Mmm? Yes, love?" John feigned innocence.

“Put your cock inside me. Now.” Sherlock’s order would be a lot more convincing if it didn’t sound so much like begging.

John laughed. "Bossy..." He chides, affectionately, slowly removing his fingers, and coating his large, hard, weeping cock with lube. Pressing the tip to Sherlock's twitching hole, he forces back a moan. "Ready?" He asks, softly.

“Yes yes yes give me that big cock of yours.” Sherlock presses back, taking the tip of John’s cock into his body.

John slowly enters him. He is bigger than average, hence the extended prepping, not wanting to hurt Sherlock. "Oh, gooood..."

“Johnnnnn.” Sherlock moans, feeling every fat inch of John’s cock fill him.

Finally seated within Sherlock, John fights to gain his composure. "All right?" He whispers.

“I’ve never felt this perfect in my entire life.” Sherlock nearly sobs.

John presses a kiss to the man's shoulder, near the gauze. "God, you are so beautiful."

Sherlock whimpers, melting under John.

After adjusting, John begins a slow thrust.

“Oh John. John..” Sherlock hooks his arm over his shoulder, holding onto John.

John huffs a laugh. "Eager..." He murmurs, pressing a kiss into Sherlock's wrist. He aims his thrusts to where Sherlock's prostate should be, dragging rigid flesh against it.

Sherlock arches, a bolt of pleasure crackling through his gut. “W-what did you do?”

John huffs. "Prostate." He murmurs, doing it again.

“Ohhh fuck oh fuck.” Sherlock trembles.

"Shh, love..." John thrusts again. "You're all right..." He mouths a sloppy kiss against Sherlock's shoulder, feeling his own orgasm beginning to ignite.

“Yours yours. Anything you want. Yours.” Sherlock was sobbing in pleasure now.

The fuse lit, John's orgasm boiled in the pit of his stomach. "Oh, Christ..... Sherlock..." He growled, his hips pistoning faster, harder.

“Please John please. Take me. I’m yours.”

John growled against Sherlock's neck, his thrusts becoming erratic. "FUCK!" He cried, his orgasm causing his cock to swell impossibly larger and his emptied himself into Sherlock, slumping against him, whimpering softly as painful aftershocks rent through him until his balls were thoroughly depleted.

Sherlock’s third orgasm of the evening sent him nearly blacking out.

John slumps against Sherlock's back, sticky with sweat. His chest heaving, he kissed the juncture of Sherlock's shoulder and neck. "Sherlock..." He whispered. "Stay with me, love."

Sherlock giggles softly, consciousness floating somewhere between drunk and out of it.

John smiles. Sherlock looked to be enjoying subspace. He gently pulled out and lay beside the man, putting an arm around him and hugging him, kissing his sweaty brow.

Sherlock snuggled into John instinctively, pressing every bit of skin possible against John’s.

"Shh..." John strokes his hand up and down his back, protectively. "You're all right." He murmured, soothingly.

Sherlock mumbles softly, incoherently, face pressed to John’s neck.

John stays there for a moment, calming the man, smiling, before gently extricating himself to go and get a flannel from the bathroom to clean himself and Sherlock up.

Sherlock curls up in the warm spot John leaves.

John returns with a flannel and cleans him gently. "Sherlock..." He murmurs softly. "I need to get up, sweetheart." He smiles. "Need to strip the duvet."

Sherlock looks at John and his eyes squint, confused. “You’re back?”

"I never went away, love." John reassures. "Just down to the loo to get a flannel, that's all."

“Never had anyone come back.” Sherlock mumbles, watching John clean him. “Especially not to clean me.”

"Well, you haven't been with good people then." John mused. "Up you hop. I've got a blanket we can use in place of the duvet tonight. I'll wash the thing tomorrow."

Sherlock gets up, his arse was nicely sore. “You have a nice cock.”

John laughs quietly. "Thank you, I think." He murmurs, pulling the duvet off the bed and spreading the aforementioned blanket in its place.

“I like it. You can fuck me with it any time you like.” Sherlock nods, still floating. Rarely this open and honest.

"Get into bed." John said, affectionately. "You look like you need a good twelve hours." He kissed the man gently and led him to the bed, tucking him in, before heading to the other side.

“That’s soooooo longgggg.” Sherlock immediately cuddles into John's side as he gets in bed.

"Hush." John laughs. "You're tired... sleep." He ran a hand through Sherlock's sweaty curls, humming something akin to a lullaby.

“Much better than Jim. Stay with me John.. Always..” Sherlock mumbles as he falls asleep in John's arms.

John's quiet, except for the humming. Who was Jim? Sherlock's old university pimp? He expelled the thought from his head. They'd talk about it when Sherlock was ready. He drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock slept hard, his body and mind needing the rest. He slept much better while John held him that his usual fits and starts.

John slept like a stone, throughout the night. His usual PTSD nightmares not bothering him for once.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new beginning and a near end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! One chapter to go in this fic but don't worry! Part two of the series is well underway!

Unfortunately Sherlock’s transport woke him the next morning. His arse was sore and he needed to piss.

John stirred slightly, heavy eyes opening slowly.

“It’s okay. I’ll be right back.” Sherlock kisses him softly and extricates himself from John’s arms before going down to the loo buck naked. “Hello, Mycroft.” He sighs, seeing his older brother sitting in his chair.

"Sherlock." Mycroft says, averting his eyes and twirling his umbrella. "I trust you had... A good evening, last night?"

“Very good in fact. Anything I can help you with?” He says sweetly.

"For God's sake. Put some clothes on." Mycroft hissed.

“You don’t get to come into my flat and dictate what I do.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “What do you want, Mike?” He smirks, knowing Mycroft hates it when he calls him that.

Mycroft smiles tightly. "Am I not allowed to be concerned about my younger brother, *William*?"

Sherlock groaned. “For fuck sakes.” He sighs and goes to the bathroom, doing his business and coming out dressed in pajamas. “Better?”

"Much. Thank you." Mycroft's shoulders squared. "I have a case for you."

“A case?” Sherlock sits in John’s chair.

"Yes, Sherlock. A case. Your second favourite thing, aside from Doctor Watson?" Mycroft raises his eyebrows.

“Focus, Mike, or else I’m going back to bed naked and letting John do all sorts of inappropriate things to me just so you can think about it.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “What’s the case?”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Melinda Dorman."

“Doesn’t ring any bells.”

"Really? You've met her, at least twice."

“Must have deleted it.” Sherlock shrugs.

"Doctor Watson's secretary."

“Oh right she has a name.”

Mycroft sighs. "And you didn't... *deduce* anything about her?"

“North of 40, two grow children, two no three cats, and drinks a bit too much wine on the weekends to relax.”

Mycroft sneers. "Such a convincing veneer." He opened his briefcase and handed Sherlock a file. "Her real name is Melissa Dudnickova. Russian spy."

Sherlock frowns deeply, taking the file and flicking through. “Why here? Why John?”

Mycroft smiles coldly. "She's very thorough. I was hoping you'd look into it. My sources say she wasn't at work yesterday?"  
"She had a family emergency." John said from the stairwell, where he'd been listening in.

“Fine. We’ll have a look.” Sherlock holds out the file to John so he can read it.

John walked in and took the file. "Should I? I mean, she's my secretary..."

“Mm you’re right. You could blow the whole thing if you act differently.” Sherlock takes the file back. “John, my larger than life brother Mike, Mike, my excellent lover John. Though I take it you two have already met.”

John flushed fiercely, averting his eyes and coughed.  
Mycroft gave a tight smile. "Yes. An interesting conversation." He muses.

“Well then, Mycroft, if that’s all from you I had a big day planned with John where he has his way with me over every available piece of furniture. Good day.” Sherlock smiles.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Good day." He stood and fairly ran from the flat.  
"*Sherlock*..." John snorted.

Sherlock grins and stands. “That was the easiest I’ve ever got him to leave. You’re like a good luck charm.”

John shakes his head, still flushed with embarrassment, but he can't help a giggle spilling over his lips. "You're incorrigible."

“You like it.” Sherlock grins, leaning in and kissing John.

John chuckles into the kiss. "How're you feeling this morning?"

“Brilliant, my arse is sore and I’ve grossed out my brother. All's right with the world.” Sherlock smiles.

"As long as you're not in copious amounts of pain." John said, amiably.

“John, you were wonderful and perfect and I wish I could take back all the experiences I had before just so you’d be the only one who ever touched me like that because it’s the only way I ever want to be touched again.” Sherlock blushes. “Breakfast?”

John smiles, albeit a bit sadly. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." He murmured. He inhaled. "I'll make it." He offers.

“Nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t do anything.” Sherlock shrugs. “Let’s go out.”

John cocks an eyebrow. "We'll need to get dressed." He mused. "It's frowned upon to go in public in pajamas."

“If you insist.” Sherlock flounces to his room to get dressed.

John laughs quietly and heads upstairs to dress, and brings down the soiled duvet to put through the wash.

Sherlock comes out, dressed impeccably in his tight tailored suit.

John bites his lip as he looks at Sherlock. "You look positively edible in that suit." He murmured.

“Good because you’ll be taking it off me when we get back.” Sherlock grins.

John laughs. "Well, we'd better get going, then, or else we won't be going anywhere."

“Dirty dog.” Sherlock chuckles and leads John downstairs.

"Perhaps I need a bath."

“I’ll scrub your back.”

John chuckles. "Let's go, or neither of us we'll eat."

“Yes yes fine.” Sherlock smiles and walks out with John.

John takes him downstairs. "Speedy's? Or somewhere else?"

“Mrs. Hudson will be having her morning tea with Mr. Chatterjee at Speedy’s. She likes to think she’s being sneaky about it keeping it from me. Adds to the thrill of their little sly meetings.” Sherlock chuckles.

John rolls his eyes. "She is so good to you. Don't be an arse about it." He chides. "There's a little bakery cafe over the way that I found on my way home the other evening. Cheddar box?"

“I would never. I only keep my eye on him to make sure he’s good to her.” Sherlock assures John. “Alright. Lead the way.”

John smiles and walks with Sherlock to the cafe.

Sherlock takes in the passers by, staying close to John as they walk so they would t be separated.

John smiles and opens the door, the smell of breakfast pastry floating tantalisingly out of the warm interior.

“Oh that’s nice.” Sherlock breathed in, he was actually hungry from the activities from the night before.

John laughed. "Come on. We're letting all the warmth out." He led Sherlock in, allowing the door to swing closed.

Sherlock stands behind John in line, so close he was nearly pressed against the smaller man's back as he looked up at the menu.

John shakes his head, smiling. "I think I'll have a big breakfast. I'm starving."

“Mm fine. Two. And coffee.” Sherlock swaggers off to get a table in the corner by the window.

John snorts, paying for their breakfasts, thanking the counter girl. He sits down at the table and looks at Sherlock.

Sherlock is looking out the window, watching the passers by. “She wrote her number on the receipt.”

"Did she?" John looked down and noticed it. "Didn't even notice."

“She’s not your type. Daddy issues and manipulation.” Sherlock hums.

"Definitely not my type." John smirks.

Sherlock smirks, looking at John.

"What?" John asks, chuckling.

“Oh nothing. She’s going to mess up the order on purpose so you have to go back and talk to her about getting it fixed.” Sherlock snorts.

"As long as the eggs aren't ruined completely, I'll eat it."

Their plates are delivered.  
“You were saying?” Sherlock hums as he looks at John’s nearly burnt over easy eggs.

John rolled his eyes and cut into the blackened mess, just to spite the woman at the front counter. Cover anything in brown sauce and it could be salvaged.

Sherlock raises a brow and watches John for a moment before standing. He goes to the counter and talks to the girl who quickly pales as she nods. Sherlock stands there and waits until a brand new plate of eggs is given to him. He comes back to the table and switches out John's eggs, putting the burnt ones on the empty plate and setting it on an empty table.

John raises his eyebrows. "Thank you..." He murmurs. "What did you say to her? She looks positively terrified."

“I told her that if she wanted to keep her job she’d stop screwing with the orders of men who looked like her father to get pseudo revenge on him for walking out on her and her mother. Also to go to a therapist but preferably not mine.” Sherlock’s smiles.

John snorts with laughter. "Eat your breakfast." He says. "Berk."

Sherlock hums happily and eats.

John drinks his coffee, grinning.

“No one messes with my Doctor.” Sherlock hums.

"Still a Berk." John chides laughing, finishing his breakfast.

“You still like it.” Sherlock scoops the last of his egg onto his toast and finishes it.

"Mmm... True."

Sherlock smiles at John, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “What Lestrade?” He drawls as he answers the call.

"Crime scene. Quite near your flat. You're not home." Lestrade said. "St Cyprian's on Glentworth road. Care to look?"

“We’ll be there. Case?”

"Older woman. Found in a church pew. Looked like she was praying, but her throat was cut."

“Interesting... Don’t let Anderson do anything. I mean it Lestrade.” Sherlock hangs up on Lestrade and turns to John. “Come to church John.” He stands and walks off.

"Church?" John asked. "Didn't know you were religious."

“Science is my higher power, John.” Sherlock hums as he sweeps through the streets.

John had to jog to keep up. "So, what's at church, then?'

“A dead woman with her throat cut.” Sherlock hums.

John raises his eyebrows. "And what good am I going to be at a crime scene?"

“Plenty.” Sherlock holds up police tape for John to walk under.

John frowned, but followed him under.  
"Hello, Freak." Sally Donovan drawled. "What're you doing here." It was more a statement than a question. John blanched.

“Doctor Watson is with me.” Sherlock emphasized the Doctor as much as possible. “Detective Inspector Lestrade has summoned us. Let us pass.” He keeps his snark to himself.

Sally rolled her eyes and turned her nose up at the shorter man. "Whatever." She said, icily.  
John hurried up next to SHerlock. "What's wrong with her?"

“She has a problem with me coming and solving the crimes they cannot even at the expense of catching criminals and giving closure to families. Her pride is quite fragile and going by the state of her knees so is her self esteem.” Sherlock frowns.

"Oi, didn't your mother ever tell you not to judge a book by it's cover?" John laughed quietly. "What does the state of her knees have anything to do with it?"

“That is who she was on her knees for.” Sherlock nods to Anderson who is currently taking pictures of the crime scene with the lense cap on the camera.

John looked surreptitiously at Anderson. "Oh... dear." He murmurs. He cringes inwardly.  
"Sherlock." Lestrade strides over, glancing at John. "Who's this?"

“Doctor John Watson, my lover.” Sherlock grins.

Lestrade, to his credit, merely nods, though shocked. "Right, uh... what's he doing here?"  
John flushed red as a stoplight. "I should get home."

“He is a doctor and a war veteran. You know forensics won’t work with me thus John.” Sherlock nods. “Where is the body?”

John shuffled his feet. "Only if the Detective is all right with me being here." He said.  
Lestrade shrugged. "We need his help, and if he needs you, then I don't see the problem. Just wear gloves, yeah? *Anderson, for Christ sake, take the lens cap off that fucking camera!*" He sighed deeply. "She's toward the front of the church. Up there." He gestured.

Sherlock nods, picking a pair of gloves for himself and then hands one to John before making his way down the aisle.

John followed the Detective, slipping on the gloves, shooting a look at Anderson as he grumbled about having to take photos all over again. Seeing the body, he stopped. He came forward slowly and let out a breath. "Shit."

Sherlock studied the ground before kneeling, looking under the pew and kneeler.

"Sher..." John stopped and swallowed back against the bile, willing his breakfast to stay down. "Sherlock." He cleared his throat. "Sherlock."

“John, go inspect the altar will you?” Sherlock says softly.

"*Sherlock*." John insists. "It's Melinda." He backs away. "I can't. I knew her."

Sherlock looks at the woman. “Shit.” Sherlock takes John's hand and gets them out of the church as he dials Mycroft’s number.

Lestrade looks at the two as they head out of the church via a side door. Waving away Sally's derisive snort, he hurried after them, seeing John sitting on a bench outside with his head between his knees.  
"Everything all right?" He asked.  
"Sherlock." Mycroft asked. "How's the case?"

“We found your spy. He throat is cut at a church. Get down here before NSY bungles the whole thing.” Sherlock hangs up on Mycroft.  
“Lestrade get everyone out of that church this instant. Don’t touch anything. Don’t breathe. And for god sakes keep Anderson’s hands off all the evidence.” Sherlock command.  
Sherlock kneels before John. “I’m here. You’re safe. Deep breaths.” He says softly, gently rubbing his hands over John’s arms.

Mycroft automatically organises to send his best agents to deal with the mess.

Lestrade raises his eyebrows. "Christ." He mutters, knowing better than to question Sherlock's orders. It usually meant his scary-but-sexy brother was on the way. "Anderson, back to the 'yard."  
John takes deep breaths and laughs weakly. "Jesus..." He muttered. "Sorry about that. Murder and mayhem don't usually affect me like that... but I've known - *thought I knew*- her for a year..."

“That doesn't matter, John. You’re all that matters. It’s all off our hands now.” Sherlock takes John’s hands and kisses his knuckles.

John swallowed again and nodded tentatively. "Y-yeah." He murmured.

“We’ll go home straight away as soon as you’re ready.” Sherlock caresses his face gently.

"Just a bit of a shock." John says, taking a deep breath. He nods after a moment and stands on shaky legs.

Sherlock leads John out to the street slowly and flags down a cab, opening the door for John to get in.

John slides into the backseat, still feeling green, but much better than when he'd first seen Melinda. He stares out the window as they head to Bake Street.

Sherlock pays the cabbie and takes John upstairs. He sits John down in his seat and goes to make tea, the file on Melinda still sitting on the table.

John licks his lips, trying not to look at the file. "I'm all right..." He murmurs, softly.

“I know.” Sherlock nods, bringing him his mug. “Do you want to look?” He asks, meaning the file.

John hesitates. "I don't know that woman. I know Melinda Dorman... not this... Melissa Dudnickova..."

“I’m sorry John.” Sherlock says softly.

John looked surprised. "I should have noticed. I don't know why you're apologising." He muttered.

“It’s not your fault. She was a professional.” Sherlock sits.

John feels his breath hitch, and he nods. "Why was she playing at being my secretary? Was it because of me? Or one of my patients?" He was worried. "Do I need to worry about any of my patients?"

“I don’t know. Mycroft will have more details as things come to light.” Sherlock sips his tea.

John sighs. "Fuck... I should call the practice." He says, sadly. "I'll need to organise a new receptionist." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mycroft will handle things for the next few days. You just relax. I’m sure he’ll have questions for you.” Sherlock says softly.

"Your brother scares the shit out of me." John laughs, scornfully. "I won't be looking forward to *that*."

“I’ll be with you the whole time.” Sherlock assures him.

John smiles. "C'mere." He asks, softly.

Sherlock gets up and climbs into John’s lap.

John presses his head to Sherlock's chest, letting the man's scent calm him some, wrapping his arms around him.

Sherlock holds John’s head to his chest, running his fingers through his hair.

John moans softly.

“Let me take care of you, John. Please.” Sherlock asks softly.

John hesitated for a moment, but nodded his ascent. "All right."

“Let me take you to bed.” Sherlock says softly.

John nodded gently. "Okay." He murmurs.

Sherlock got up and took John’s hand, leading John to his room.

John follows, quietly.

Sherlock pulls the covers back on the bed and then turns to John. He kisses him gently only to pull back and start striping him slowly. He stops when John is down to his vest and his pants. He kisses him gently once more and lays him down in the center of the bed before stripping himself down to his pants. He climbs into bed and lays down on top of John, letting his weight rest on top of John. He had researched soothing techniques after John’s night terror. He found that deep pressure therapy helps people with anxiety and PTSD to relax while feeling safe and secure.

John looks up at him, wonderingly. "Sherlock...?" He asks softly.

“Mm?” Sherlock hums, pulling the covers up around them.

John sighed and snuggled into the taller man.

Sherlock holds him, letting the pressure of his body calm John.

John moans softly. "Sherlock..." He murmurs.

“It’s alright. I’m here. Just feel.” Sherlock says softly.

John nods and closes his eyes.

Sherlock gently rubs his fingers through John’s hair.

John sighs softly, feeling himself relax.

“There you go. Just like that.” Sherlock praises.

John breathes out an aborted sob. "You should be doing my job." He whispers.

“Why would I do when when you are the only one I wish to do this with?” Sherlock whispers.

John chuckled softly. "Berk..." He murmurs softly, affectionately.

“Mm.” Sherlock hums and smiles.

John laughs quietly.

“What?” Sherlock nuzzles him.

"You're beautiful..." John murmurs, wrapping arms around Sherlock. "What do you want to do?"

“Anything you wish though I’m perfectly content to lay here like this.” Sherlock says softly.

John laughed. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

“I.. I like cuddling with you.” Sherlock blushes a bit.

"Come here." John opened his arms to cuddle.

Sherlock presses closer.

John moans softly.

“I want you to be mine, John. Mine and mine alone.” Sherlock whispers.

"Mhm..." John groans in response.

Sherlock smiles softly, knowing John isn’t in the right headspace for any kind of conversation.

"Sherlock..." He moans, softly.

“I’m here, John. I’m right here.” He drags his nose over John’s neck.

"Sherlock!" John pants, grinding against him, absentmindedly.

“Indeed.” Sherlock kisses his throat.

John whimpers softly, trying to calm his nerves. "Sherlock, please..."

Sherlock stops, breathing John in.

John whines. "*Sherlock...*"

“What can I do for you, John?”

"Fuck me...." whines John, too lost in his daze.

Sherlock hesitates and pulls back. “Are you sure?”

"Mhm...." John opens his eyes and looks at him. "Please, love..."

Sherlock nods and kisses John before pulling back to get the lube from the drawer.

John hums, feeling the need.

“You’ll tell me to stop if you need me to stop, correct?”

John nods. "Just... fuck, Sherlock..."

“I know.” Sherlock slicks just fingers. “Spread your legs for me.”

John whines, but does as he's told

Sherlock gently rubs slick fingers over John’s tight puckered hole as he kisses his stomach.

John whines softly, already trying to get Sherlock's fingers further into his arse.

“Breath, John. I’ll take care of you.” Sherlock slowly pushes one of his long fingers into John.

John whines, grinding against Sherlock's finger. He inhales, trying to keep his cool. "I know..." He whimpers.

“You’re okay. I’m going to fuck you and hold you and kiss you and make you come as many times as you’d like.” Sherlock kisses his cock as he rocks his finger.

John inhales sharply. "God, Sherlock..." He mutters. "You make me want to come just by looking at you, sometimes." He opens his eyes and looks down at his lover, smiling softly.

Sherlock chuckles softly. “I do like watching you cum.”

John groans. "Fuck me, you bastard..." He whines.

“Keep talking to me like that and I’ll rail you through this bed, John Watson.” Sherlock growls softly and ever so gently eases a second slick finger into John.

John clenches his fists to the bedhead, groaning. "Promises, promises..." He mutters.

“A promise I intend to keep.” Sherlock rocks his fingers, deep and stretching John.

John groans happily, rocking against the fingers in his hole.

“You look so good like this John. You’re making me so hard.” Sherlock pants, adding a third finger.

"Jesus, Sherlock..." John mumbles. "Fuck me... don't sweet talk me.... just *fuck me*... hard, fast... get you fucking point across." He looks down at the man and grins.

“Oh I’m going to fuck you. Maybe I’ll even make you scream.” Sherlock licks his lips, spreading his fingers.

"Sh-ERLOCK" John cried out. "Pleasepleaseplease...." He was on the cusp of whining.

Sherlock slowly pulls his fingers out and slicks his cock.

John practically cries out as he feels Sherlock hand disappear. "Sherlock..." He sobs.

Sherlock pushes his cock into John with one good slow thrust.

John throws his head back, keening.

Sherlock groans as he bottoms out.

John pants and he wraps his legs around Sherlock hips. "Fuck me, Sherlock.... please love... fuck me, hard."

“Yes, John.” Sherlock groans and kisses him, starting to move.

John kisses him back, moaning, tightening his legs.

Sherlock holds John’s hips tight, thrusting hard and fast into his lover’s body.

"Uh, uh, UH..." John groans. "Fuck... Sherlock!" He feels his orgasm boiling in his stomach. "Yesss... Oh, fuck me, you gorgeous bastard...."

“Mine. Mine. All fucking mine.” Sherlock growls, pounding into John.

"YOURS! ALL FUCKING YOURS!" John practically screams as his orgasm consumes him.

Sherlock fucks him through his orgasm and finally comes inside him.

John cries out in pleasure, tightening his legs around Sherlock's hips, forcing him still as he comes into John's arse.

Sherlock collapses into John’s chest.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock's shoulders, panting.

Sherlock kisses John’s neck as he breathes.

John sighs happily. "God, Sherlock..." He murmured. "Thank... thank you...."

“Anything for you John.” Sherlock lifts his head and kisses John deeply.

John kisses back, huffing with laughter. "I love you..." He muttered, too distracted but previous events to understand fully what he'd said.

Sherlock blushes, feeling like the air has been sucked from his lungs. He gets a hold of himself and nuzzles John. “I should get you cleaned up..”

John hums. "Stay with me..." He murmurs, kissing him.

“I’m right here.” Sherlock kisses him back gently.

"No... *stay with me*..." John mumbles, already fading into sleep.

“I’m never leaving you, John.” Sherlock cuddles him close and kisses his head.

John mumbles, snuggling into the taller man.

Sherlock runs his fingers through John’s hair.

John falls into a deep sleep, due to the early morning stress, and the late morning sex.

Sherlock goes into his mind palace to organize the events of the morning but not so deeply that he wouldn’t notice what John needed.

John snuggles into Sherlock, happily sleeping next to the man, not bothered by his PTSD dreams for another sleep cycle. His thoughts are calm and concentrated.

Greg keeps everyone out of the church and looks up when a series of big black SUVs pull up. “The cavalry has arrived..”

Mycroft alight from the first SUV. "Detective Inspector. I didn't expect you to still be here."

“Had to keep the scene secure. Chain of custody and all that.” Greg nods.

"My team could have arranged." Mycroft smiled. "But thank you. My brother wasn't any hassle, I hope??"

“No more than usual. Though he did show up with a boyfriend so that was something.” Greg chuckles, happy Sherlock was doing well.

Mycroft cringes. "Yes, Dr Watson seems to be keeping my brother.... *indisposed*..."

“As long as he’s keeping Sherlock off the drugs and safe I think it’s a fair trade off.” Greg smiles. “How’ve you been, Mycroft? Haven’t seen you much lately.”

Mycroft smirks. "I suppose that's one way to look at it." He concedes. "Dr Watson is a good man, with the makings of a great one, just like my brother. Now, Gregory, what can you tell me about this.... interesting.... scene?"

“The pastor comes in this morning to open the church up and finds this woman kneeling in prayer. He tries to talk to her to ask her how she got in the locked church and when she doesn’t respond he goes to see and finds a pool of blood around her.” Greg leads Mycroft inside.

"Interesting. Who was within the church security?" Mycroft asks, surveying the scene.

“A guard does a few laps at night on the grounds but the church is locked up tight after the last service.” Greg sighs with Mycroft down the aisle to the woman in the pew. “Why did Sherlock bring you in on this?”

"I brought Sherlock in on a case." Mycroft admitted. "His...*lover's*," He cringed slightly. "secretary. I was concerned about her.... affiliations." He admitted. "She has been a.... topic of discussion. And now she ends up dead. You understand I'm not at liberty to reveal more information, Gregory."

“If it’s above my pay grade I don’t need to know.” Greg nods.

"Then you don't need to know." Mycroft smirked.

Greg laughs. “The scene is yours. Enjoy.” He winks.

"Off you pop. then." Mycroft winks. "Files of what you need to know will be... added to your case file library."

“Better than a fairy godmother, you are.” Greg chuckles and starts to walk away before stopping. “Hey, Mycroft.” He turns to look at Mycroft. “You busy tonight?”

Mycroft blinks at the question and looks at Anthea, who stands quietly at his side., She shakes her head silently, smirking. Mycroft sneers at her, before looking back at Greg, "It just so happens that I'm free." He muses. "Why?"

“Come over to mine and I’ll make us dinner.” Greg smiles, those big brown eyes irresistible.

Mycroft pauses. Well, he wasn't expecting *that*.  
"Go." Anthea whispered. "We've got this handled."  
"All...right." he nods.

Greg smiles and walks out with Mycroft.

Mycroft raises his eyebrows. "I can have a car called...?"

“We can take mine if you’d like.” Greg offers.

Mycroft nods. "All right."

Greg leads Mycroft to his car. “Fancy anything particular tonight?”

"Oh..." He's surprised. "Whatever you decide."

“Steaks?” Greg opens the car door for him.

"Sounds good." Mycroft nods, getting in. "Thank you."

Greg smiles and nods, closing the door before going around and getting in. “I’ll have to stop at the butcher for a minute to get them.” He starts the car.

Mycroft nods. "Of course. I was going to have a salad when I arrived home." He grimaces. "Your offer is far more tempting."

“We can make a salad as well if you want to go with it though I’m usually a meat and potatoes kind of man.” Greg chuckles, driving them to the butcher.

"Red meat and carbohydrates... a very policeman dinner." Mycroft chuckles. "No, we don't need to make a salad."

“Tonight we eat like coppers.” Greg laughs.

Mycroft chuckles softly. "As you wish, detective inspector."

Greg chuckles and parks in front of the butcher. “Want to come in or stay in the car? It’ll only take a minute.”

"I'll stay here, if you don't mind... butcher shops and associated smells don't agree with me..."

“I’ll be quick.” Greg nods and gets out of the car.

Mycroft nods, settling back and answering an email on his phone.

Greg is back quickly as promised, setting the bag in the back seat. He’d gotten it double bagged so no smells bother Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled slightly at the gesture. "Off to yours then?" He asks.

“Yup.” Greg smiles and buckles up before starting off again.

Mycroft is quiet for the drive, taking in the sight of Greg driving. It's been a while since he'd seen Gregory.

Greg has grown out his beard since Mycroft had last seen him and his hair seemed to be even grayer. He had more of that hot Dad vibe every day.

Mycroft chews the inside of his lip and clears his throat softly. "The beard suits you." He says, softly.

“Oh yeah? Thanks.” Greg chuckles and rubs it, the hair making a scratchy sound. “Figured I might as well. Cold enough out for it anyway.”

Mycroft laughs quietly. "Quite." He mused. "I was never one for growing facial hair... it grew rather scrappy, so I kept clean shaven."

“I think a smooth face suits you better anyway. Clean and precise.” Greg smiles.

Mycroft blushes. "Thank you."

Greg chuckles and pulls up to his flat.

Mycroft bites his lip again and steps out of the car, looking at the small but well kept flat. "I was... sorry to hear about your divorce." He murmured. *Liar. You knew what that woman was doing to him.*

“I’m not.” Greg shrugs and leads Mycroft inside. “She treated me like trash and cheated on me every chance she got. I’m a free man now.”

Mycroft cringed. "I'm aware." He murmurs. "She made life... interesting for one of Anthea's team."

“Oh?” Greg raises a brow. “Oh shit I forgot the steaks. I’ll be right back.” He goes back out to the car leaving Mycroft in his flat.

Mycroft looks around. It's cosy and warm. Much nicer than outside. He places his umbrella against the wall and takes off his coat.

Greg comes back in. “Sorry. I got distracted and nearly left dinner in the car.” He chuckles.

Mycroft smiles. "It's fine." He says. "Would you like some help?"

“Sure if you’d like. I usually just like to cook them in a skillet with garlic and butter.” Greg smiles and takes Greg to the kitchen through the little sitting room.

Mycroft nods. "It sounds delightful. Boiled potatoes, mashed, baked? Roasting takes so much time." He smirks.

“Mashed is alright with me. Whatever you prefer.” Greg chuckles, getting out pots and pans. “Make yourself at home. Maybe you could open us a bottle of wine?” He nods to a cupboard.

Mycroft nods and opens what he assumes is the draw that has a bottle opener. Rummaging for a moment, he finds it and peruses the small wine collection, before picking out a Merlot.

“Sorry it’s not very fancy.” Greg chuckles softly.

"If I'd wanted fancy, Gregory, I would have gone to a high end restaurant." Mycroft says, simply. "But the staff aren't near as good looking as you."

“You flatter me.” Greg snorts, blush creeping up his neck.

"I speak only the truth."

“With me maybe. With everyone else I beg to differ.”

Mycroft snorts and opens the wine to breathe. "Not always." He muses.

“Been untruthful with me, My?” Greg teases.

Mycroft hums. "Only when it matters." He says, cryptically.

Greg frowns a bit and looks at Mycroft. “When does it matter?”

"When it comes to our respective jobs." Mycroft smiles.

“Ah.” Greg nods, washing the potatoes. “Peels or no peels in the mash?”

"I'm not fussed." Mycroft says, quietly, getting two wine glasses and pouring the merlot.

Greg hums and peels them anyway, cutting them before dumping them into a pot to boil. “Asparagus or oven roasted squash?”

"Asparagus is agreeable." Mycroft smiles, sipping the wine. It was quite nice, for a cheap red.

Greg nods and crushes some garlic with the flat of the knife. “So how was your day? Besides the dead woman.”

"Tedious." Mycroft muses. "Mostly paperwork." *And the odd assassination order, but he didn't need to know that.*

“Not so different from mine.” Greg washes as prepares the asparagus.

"Ah, such a joy to play civil servant, isn't it?" Mycroft chuckled.

“Absolutely thrilling.” Greg smiles, picking up his glass and taking a sip.

It's quiet for a moment. "Gregory? Why did you invite me to dinner?"

“Because I wanted to spend time with you.” Greg answers easily.

"But...why?" Mycroft is really confused. Why would anyone want to *voluntarily* spend time with him?

“Because I like you.” Greg puts the asparagus into the oven.

Mycroft pauses. "I..."

“I like your company. I like spending time with you. I think you're funny and charming. Not to mention attractive.” Greg smiles at him, wiping his hands in a towel.

Mycroft feels the tips of his ear heat in embarrassment. "Oh...."

“If you want to be just mates that’s fine. I’d rather have you as a friend than not at all. But I will admit that I was hoping this could be a date. The first of many dates actually.” Greg says softly.

Mycroft swallows reflexively. "I'm... flattered." He says, after a moment of contemplation. "I just.... I never thought anyone would... be attracted to me." He clears his throat and looks away, embarrassed. "I admit that I find you quite... dashing. That beard you're sporting makes you look very... handsome."

“You don’t have to give me an answer or anything now. I don’t want you to spontaneously combust.” Greg smiles softly.

Mycroft gave an embarrassed chuckle. "I'm sorry. I've probably ruined the mood you were trying to set."

“Not at all. We’re gonna drink wine and eat steak. That hasn’t changed.” Greg chuckles.

Mycroft nodded. "Good." He murmured, biting his lip. "I... wouldn't be against this being.... a regular thing... as long as our calendars coincide." He chuckles. "Even a minor position in the British government can be... taxing."

“I’d like that too.” Greg smiles, hearing the butter and garlic in the skillet.

Mycroft sips his wine again and watches Greg cook. "You're quite adept in the kitchen." He mused.

“I like to cook.” Greg smiles.

"Yes, you worked at your father's restaurant to put yourself through police training." Mycroft mused. "Admirable."

Greg chuckles and nods. “I love how you just know things.”

"I make a point to know everything I can about those who associate with Sherlock. For his safety, of course."

“Not for your own uses.” Greg smirks.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Mycroft smirks into his wine.

“Mmhmm.” Greg chuckles and moves around the asparagus.

"And what would I use this information for personally? To have you as my own personal chef?" Mycroft twitches an eyebrow.

“Maybe.” Greg smirks.

Mycroft smiles slightly. "Thankfully, I am not that kind of person."

“Thankfully.” Greg smiles.

Mycroft piques an eyebrow. "I'd rather spend time with you, not you cooking for me, detective inspector."

“I like both.” Greg smiles.

Mycroft laughs quietly. "Well, we'll have to do it again... I myself am a passable cook... took more after Father than Mummy."

“Oh?” Greg smiles, liking to hear about Mycroft’s life.

"Mummy is... quite eccentric." He muses. "A world class mathematician, but ... rather flakey otherwise." He chuckled. "But also an astounding cook. Father... well, he's just happy to sit back and let Mummy feed him up."

Greg smiles softly. “I see.”

Mycroft smiles. "I'm rarely so open about my life." He murmurs.

“I appreciate you telling me.” Greg says softly.

Mycroft shrugs, a little uncomfortably. "Shall we cook these steaks?"

Greg nods and gets them in the pan.

Mycroft finishes his glass of wine, and feeling a little spontaneous, he loosens his tie.

Greg gets everything together and plated.

Mycroft lays the table with cutlery and refills their wine glasses.

Greg sets the salt and pepper on the table with the butter.

Mycroft sit and smiles at Greg. "It smells delicious. Thank you, Greg."

“Course.” Greg smiles and sits with him.

Mycroft smiles, eating quietly.

Greg relaxes. “I probably should have put all this on you so suddenly.”

"It's fine, Gregory." He muses. "I was in slight shock, but... I'm flattered.”

“I should have asked to take you out somewhere neutral. Taking you back to mine is probably over steeping.”

"It's *fine*, Gregory. It's nice to eat a home cooked meal... most of my eating is done out, so this is really quite lovely."

“Okay.” Greg nods, feeling a bit better that he didn’t make a big presumptive arse of himself.

Mycroft lays his cutlery down neatly. "That was lovely." He said. "My compliments to the chef."

“I’ll let him know.” Greg smiles, finishing off his wine.

Mycroft chuckles, finishing his own wine. He's suddenly unsure of what to do.

“Do you want to hang out for a bit or do you have to get home?” Greg asks as he clears the table.

"Home is cold and dark." Mycroft sighs. "And I have never partaken in 'hanging out'... what does one do?"

“We can watch a movie or play cards. Whatever you want really.”

Mycroft smiles softly. "I prefer the old black and white romances... but I'm sure I'd like whatever movie you pick."

“Black and white romance it is.” Greg smiles.

Mycroft blushes softly. "I apologise if you hear it in stereo... I've watched it many a time or two. Though I do seem to be partial to anything with Ingrid Bergman, as well. *Gaslight* is very good." He chuckles quietly.

“Isn’t he the one that plays chess with death?” Greg asks, bringing up the streaming service.

Mycroft laughs quietly. "I'm going to have to educate you. Ingrid Bergman was a female actress. She played Ilsa Lund, the female love interest in *Casablanca*." He looked thoroughly amused, but not in a mean way, but a friendly teasing.

“Ohhh.” Greg nods. “Sounds like I’ve got lots to learn.” He sits on the couch with Mycroft. “Shall we watch Casablanca then?”

"The man you're thinking of is Ingmar Bergman, and the movie is *The Seventh Seal.* And he and Ingrid have worked together..." He chuckles. "Sounds wonderful." He smiles. "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine."

“Knew it was something like that.” Greg smiles and starts the movie.

Mycroft takes off his suit jacket and rolls his sleeve up, feeling comfortable, full and happy, as he sits on the sofa.

Greg relaxes and puts his socked feet up on the coffee table.

Mycroft mouths the lines along with the characters on film, his eyes flicking to Greg every now and then.

Greg watches Mycroft, smiling dopeily.

Mycroft just smiles, still feeling a little embarrassed, but not so much that he'd stop.

Greg watches the movie nearly as much as he watches Mycroft if not Mycroft more.

Hours later, as Rick and Louis walk off, he murmurs "Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship..." He sighs as the music swells and the screen goes dark.

“You’re an old fashion romantic, aren’t you?” Greg asks softly.

Mycroft laughs quietly. "I suppose I am... in a way."

Greg chuckles smiles softly.  
Mycroft’s phone vibrates, Anthea calling.

Mycroft sighs, answering it. "Yes, Anthea?"

“How’s it going? Need me to rescue you?” Anthea grins.

"Anthea, are you really doing this? Now?" Mycroft asked, tightly. He appreciates her, but she can be so nosey... *Cockblocking woman...* He thought.

“Only trying to offer an out if you needed it which it sounds like you don’t. Enjoy your evening, Sir.” She smiles.

"Hmph." He huffs. "*Goodnight, Anthea.*"

Anthea hangs up.  
“Everything alright?” Greg asks. “Do you need to go?”

Mycroft shakes his head. "My assistant... She's... Well, let's be honest. She's making sure I don't need an Out while here with you." He chuckles wearily.

“Oh I see.” Greg chuckles softly. “And I take it you don’t need an out?”

Mycroft shrugs. "Unless you want to toss me out on my ear." He murmured. "I have taken up hours of your time." He smiles, shyly.

“You haven’t taken anything that I haven’t given more than willingly.” Greg says softly.

Mycroft pauses. "Are you at work tomorrow?"

Greg nods. “Paperwork mostly. Why?” He raises a brow.

Mycroft shifted a little uncomfortably. "I'd... Like to stay... If you'll have me."

“Really?” Greg smiles, surprised.

Mycroft shrugs. "You're very good company."

“I’m glad you think so.” Greg chuckles.

"I do." The taller man nods. "I... Have often found myself wanting to... Get to know you, enjoy your company... Not just when Sherlock summons me to one of your crime scenes."

“I look forward to seeing you at crime scenes just so I can see you.” Greg blushes a bit.

Mycroft laughs. "I can't imagine what Sherlock would think about his brother 'hooking up' with his detective friend..." He coughed, blushing.

“He literally brought a strange new man to a crime scene today so I don’t think he has much room to talk about what we do after we’ve known each other for years.” Greg laughs.

Mycroft Snickers. "Yes, he seems... Very happy with Doctor Watson. We'll see how it plays out."

Greg hums and nods. “As long as he’s a good influence he can stay.” He chuckles.

"Yes..." He drawls.

“So this is a hook up, is it?” Greg smirks.

Mycroft splutters for a moment, cheeks flaming.

“God you’re adorable.” He smiles softly.

Mycroft bites his lip, hiding his face in his hands.

“Nothing has to happen.” He says softly. “I honestly just wanted to spend time with you.”

Mycroft chuckles, softly. "It's been a very, *very* long time since anyone not related to me has wanted that." He murmured.

“I wanted to for a long time. Just never had the courage to ask.”

"What changed today?"

“I realized that I didn’t want to go another day without having put myself out there.”

Mycroft smiles. "I'm glad."

“Me too.” He smiles.

Mycroft sighs, leaning into the couch. "It's nice to be in preferable company." He muses.

“Much better than being home alone.”

"Oh, definitely." He laughs softly.

Greg chuckles and smiles. “What would you like to do now?”

"I..." Mycroft paused. "What do people usually do in this situation?"

“Well I could set you up with blankets here on the couch and go to bed or you can come to bed with me and sleep or you could kiss me and we’ll see what happens.”

Mycroft smiles. "I'd like the latter option, if I may..."

“Be my guest.” Greg grins.

Mycroft tentatively leans down and presses a chaste kiss to Greg's mouth.

Greg smiles softly and kisses Mycroft back gently.

Mycroft chuckles, leaning back, looking at the man.

“Alright?” Greg smiles.

Mycroft nods. "More than alright." He murmurs.

“Wanna do it again?” He asks softly.

Mycroft nods. "Very much so."

Greg smiles softly and caresses Mycroft’s cheek as he leans in to kiss him again.

Mycroft smiles and presses his lips to Greg's again.

Greg moves closer as they kiss.

Greg wraps his arms tentatively around Greg's waist.

Greg relaxes, pressing a little closer.

Mycroft chuckles, pulling away slightly and looking at Greg with dark eyes. "You're lovely."

“So are you.” Greg hums happily.

Mycroft huffed with a slight laugh. "Nice of you to say." He teases.

“You’re lovely and handsome and funny and delicious.” Greg smirks.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Now you're just making things up."

“I’m really really not, My.” Greg rubs his nose along Mycroft’s.

Mycroft sighs and leans his forehead against Greg's.

Greg cuddles him close.

Mycroft sighs again as his phone buzzes. He glares at the offending object and puts it to his ear. "What, Sherlock?"

Greg decides to kiss Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft inhales quietly, trying not to clue Sherlock in. "Have you found anything else of interest about Melinda from John?"

Greg sucks a light mark on Mycroft’s neck, under his collar of course.  
“Nothing. He said she was a normal secretary. Never took a sick day until the day before she died.” Sherlock sighs.

Mycroft bit his lip, closing his eyes against Greg's onslaught. "That in itself is questionable... from what John said, she took family emergency days... there could be something in that..!" He inhaled sharply.

Greg smirks against his skin, tugging on his hair gently.  
Sherlock frowns. “Are you alright?”

"Merely stepped wrongly and kicked the desk." Mycroft said, swallowing a whimper. "I told you to stop arranging all the furniture slightly to the left, didn't I?"

Greg unbuttons Mycroft’s collar button, licking Mycroft’s collarbone.  
Sherlock snorts a laugh.

"If that's all, Sherlock?" Mycroft sighs. "Good night."

“I’ll keep snooping.” Sherlock hangs up.  
Greg rubs Mycroft’s thighs gently.

"Really, Gregory, was that..." He inhales sharply. "*Really* necessary?" He pockets the phone again.

“No but you liked it.” Greg nuzzles him.

Mycroft laughs breathlessly. "I did." He agreed.

“Good.” Greg smiles.

"Kiss me?" Mycroft asks, opening his waistcoat buttons.

“Oh yeah.” Greg kisses him again.

Mycroft moans softly and drags his fingers through Greg's hair.

Greg deepens the kiss and pulls Mycroft into his lap.

Mycroft straddles his lap and laughs into the kiss. "How very forward of you, Gregory..."

“You set the pace.” Greg chuckles.

"I'm... Not really sure how to do that." Mycroft admits after a moment, but dips forward and kisses him anyway.

Greg wraps his arms up around his shoulders. “Do what feels right.” He mumbles and kisses him.

Mycroft sighs into the kiss and after a moment, drags one hand down Greg's chest, pressing and kneeling flesh through the shirt he still wore.

“Want me to take it off?” Greg nuzzles him.

"Please..."

Greg takes off his shirt.

Mycroft sighs softly and appraises the man beneath him. "You're beautiful."

Greg smiles. “Can I see you too?” He plays with the buttons on Mycroft’s shirt.

Mycroft hesitates, but nodded, undoing the buttons of his shirt, and taking off his cufflinks.

“God, My.” Greg groans as he looks at him.

Mycroft flushes scarlet, smiling slightly. He places the cufflinks in his waistcoat pocket. "Yes?"

“Oh yes.” Greg nods, gently running his hands over Mycroft’s chest.

Mycroft feels goosebumps rise on his pale skin. He was self conscious about his body, especially his torso.

“Oh, My.” Greg whines, leaning in and kissing Mycroft’s chest.

Mycroft shivers. "Gregory..." He murmurs softly.

“Let me take you to bed, My. I’ll make you feel so good. I promise.”

Mycroft nods. "Please, Gregory..." He murmurs, a soft pleading in his voice.

Greg kisses him again tenderly, leading Mycroft to bed.

Mycroft stands and follows Greg, biting his lip.

“You lead.” He says softly and sits in his bed.

"I...I don't know what to do..." Mycroft hedges. He sits down on the bed, embarrassed. "I... Haven't had a... *relationship*... since University." He muttered. "And he was very dominant."

“Okay.” Greg nods and gently takes Mycroft’s hand. “How about we lay here in bed and kiss?”

Mycroft looks up, searching Greg's face. "You're not... Dissuaded?" He murmurs. "I'm..." He stopped.

“Not in the least.” Greg smiles softly. “You’re what, My?”

Mycroft sighs and plucks at the bedspread. "Damaged goods." He whispers. It's what Reginald continually told him, and even after being separated for over twenty years, his words stung.

Greg frowns. “I don’t believe that one bit.”

Mycroft averted his eyes that were full of sadness. "Ugly, fat, worthless..." He muttered, seemingly lost in thought.

“Oh My.” Greg frowns and gently pulls Mycroft to him. “Whoever said that was a moron. You are so fucking gorgeous. All this pale skin. This red hair. Christ, these freckles.” He nearly groans.

Mycroft takes a deep breath. "His words still crowd my head." He whispers. "I'm sorry... I've... I've ruined the mood. I was hoping if I perhaps stayed with you, his memory would stay in the shadows and I might be free of him...at least for tonight" To his horror, he felt a lump form in his throat.

“My, nothing’s ruined. Our past relationships are still part of us. Part of how we see ourselves.” Greg holds his hand and kisses his knuckles. “You know my ex used to tell me all the time that I didn’t work hard enough. That I couldn’t give her what she deserved. That I didn’t deserve her. So I worked harder and longer. Still wasn’t enough. I was lazy and useless and boring I did was enough. I still can’t come home without finishing all my paperwork and making sure it’s all submitted. I can’t work on less than three cases at once or else it feels like I’m failing.” He sighs. “They’re not my thoughts. They’re hers but I’ve heard them so many times in my own head that they sound like me.”

Mycroft looks so forlorn, but he presses closer to Greg. "Bastards." He muttered. "People can be utter bastards." He rested his forehead on Greg's shoulder.

“Yeah.” Greg wraps his arm around Mycroft’s shoulder and kisses his head.

Mycroft swallows past the lump in his throat and raises his head. After a long pause, he bit his lip. "Take me?"

Greg raises a brow. “Take you where, My?”

"To ...bed?" Mycroft averted his eyes again.

“Okay.” Greg smiles softly.

Mycroft nodded. His face flushed, feeling foolish.

“My, I really like you. I still really like you. I’m gonna keep really liking you.” Greg kisses his knuckles.

Mycroft Holmes had never really had anyone say they *liked* him before. He nodded slowly. "All right..." He whispers, pushing Reginald's voice back into the shadows.

“And I think you're attractive just the way you are. And I like touching you. And kissing you. And looking at you.” Greg smiles softly.

Mycroft gave a small smile, leaning forward and kissing him.

Greg kisses him back, cupping his face.

Mycroft sighs into the kiss, laying back on the bed and pulling Greg with him.

Greg presses close as they kiss.

Mycroft moans softly, his prick regaining half-mast position. "Greg..." He murmurs.

Greg holds Mycroft’s hips, pulling him closer.

Mycroft moans softly. "Greg..."

“I’m here.” Greg kisses his jaw.

Mycroft nods and shifts his head to kiss the man again.

Greg moves on top of Mycroft, deepening the kiss.

Mycroft stares up at the other man with dark eyes.

“I’m going to open take off your trousers and pants, okay?”

Mycroft nods slowly. "Okay."

“How comfortable are you with it on a scale of one to ten? One being not comfortable at all ten being very comfortable.”

Mycroft considered. "Seven..." He murmured. He'd steamed of this, but never thought of it ever happening.

“How about I take off your trousers first and we kiss a bit more before we talk about taking off your pants?” Greg suggests.

Mycroft nods "That... Sounds fine."

“Okay.” Greg kisses Mycroft softly before moving down to take off his trousers. He slowly unbuckles his belt, then the bottom, then the zipper. “Still good?” He looks up at him.

Mycroft watches him and nods slowly.

“Would you like me to take them off or stop here for a bit?”

"Stop for a moment...please." Mycroft's soft voice murmurs.

Greg nods and comes up, laying next to Mycroft. “You know, My, we don’t have to do anything. We can stop right here, I wouldn’t be the least bit upset or disappointed.”

Mycroft looks at him. "Are you sure?"

“One hundred percent positive.” Greg nods.

He nodded slightly. "Please..." He said, after a moment.

“Okay.” Greg smiles softly. “Do you still want to stay here with me tonight?”

Mycroft nodded. "If you don't mind..."

“Not at all. I’m happy you want to stay.” Greg smiles. “How about I get you some pajama bottoms and a shirt and you can go change in the bathroom so you’re more comfortable?”

"That... Would be most appreciated..." Mycroft still felt nervous.

Greg nods and gets up, picking out clothes for Mycroft. “Do you want to sleep in bed together or I could take the couch?”

"Stay with me... Please?"

“Okay.” Greg nods, handing Mycroft his pajamas.

Mycroft got up slowly and headed quietly to the bathroom to change.

Greg changes into his pajamas before going around to make sure the flat is locked up. He pulls down the covers on the bed and gets in on his side.

Mycroft lays down beside him and sighed. It was a comfortable bed, and despite sleeping alone for twenty plus years, he didn't mind the company.

“Alright?” Greg smiles softly.

"Yes, thank you." He murmured, watching the other man. "I'm sorry..."

“Sorry?” Greg frowns. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

"You asked me here... To spend time... And I feel like I may have ruined the night with my issues." Mycroft says, softly, watching him. "Ridiculous that a confident person who works at Vauxhall would be so... Much less confident when it comes to personal relationships."

“My, I was thrilled you agreed to have dinner with me. Everything else has surpassed any expectations.” Greg slowly reaches out and takes Mycroft’s hand. “Nothing’s ruined. If anything this is a lot more intimate than I ever dreamed of.”

Mycroft gave a tiny smile. "You're a wonderful man, Gregory." He murmured.

“Hardly. I’m just a decent bloke.” Greg smiles softly. “If I ever make you uncomfortable or you just simply don’t like something I do I’d appreciate it if you told me. And I’ll ask before doing things. You are always allowed to say no and you’re always allowed to change your mind. Agreed?”

"Agreed." Mycroft nods, squeezing his hand. "Thank you, Gregory."

“My pleasure, My.” Greg smiles softly. “Would you like to cuddle or is hand holding enough contact?”

"I... Like this." He murmurs softly.

Greg nods. “You can ask for things too if you want something.

"May... I kiss you again? I did enjoy that very much." Mycroft smiles.

“Please.” Greg smiles.

Mycroft leans forward and kisses him slowly.

Greg kisses him back gently.

Mycroft sighs into the kiss and relaxes against the pillow.

Greg keeps the kisses soft and slow.

Mycroft nuzzles the man, slowly but surely giving into instinct.

Greg smiles softly. “You’re a really nice kisser.”

Mycroft gives a shadow of a smile. "You're very nice, yourself."

He chuckles softly. “A good match then.”

Mycroft chuckles. "Indeed." He felt his eyes growing heavy.

“Goodnight, My..” Greg nuzzles him gently.

"Mhm..." Mycroft drops off to sleep.

Greg falls asleep with him.

Early the next morning, Mycroft rouses slowly, warm, comfortable, pressed against an equally warm, male body.  
His eyes fly open and he looks toward the man in his arms in alarm, as he felt his morning erection nudging against Greg's bum. *Shit*.

Greg was still asleep, completely content being spooned.

Mycroft bites his lip, willing his erection to whither. He doesn't want to move in case he wakes Greg.

Greg rolls over, sleepily cuddling Mycroft.

Mycroft bites his lips, trying not to moan. He lets out a breath.

“Mm..” Greg hums softly.

Mycroft sighs softly. He might be in the clear...

Greg relaxes, arm around Mycroft’s waist.

*Don't panic, Mycroft*. He slowly relaxes again.

Greg breathes deeply, his silver hair sticking up in every direction.

Mycroft smiles. The older man looks adorable in sleep, so relaxed.

Greg nuzzles closer.

Mycroft rests his head against Greg's, feeling content and comfortable, despite his morning erection.

Greg hums softly, slowly coming out of sleep.

Mycroft has his eyes closed, still trying to will his hard on to die.

Greg stretches, rolling onto his back. “Mm morning, My.” He yawns.

"Good morning." He murmured.

“Sleep okay?” Greg turns to him.

"Very well, thank you." He murmured, a small smile, but his eyes still closed.

Greg gets up and stretches. “I’ll get you a toothbrush. Do you want to shower?” He asks.

"It's fine, Gregory." Mycroft assures. "I'll call a car to take me to Vauxhall. I have clothes and a small suite there for when I work days at a time." He finally gets up. "Thank you for the use of pajamas..." He bit his lip.

“Course.” Greg smiles. “Want breakfast before you go?”

"Only if it's no bother..."

“None at all.” Greg smiles and goes to the bathroom.

Mycroft quickly dresses in last night's suit, grimacing at the wrinkles. Anthea would hopefully take it out for dry cleaning.

Greg goes to the kitchen to make breakfast.

He comes down a moment later, fastening his cufflinks and trying to smooth down his hair.

“Tea and toast okay?” Greg asks as he puts the kettle on.

"Perfectly adequate." Mycroft smiles.

Greg smiles and nods. “Cinnamon sugar toast maybe?”

"Now you're spoiling me."

“Hardly.” Greg chuckles, buttering Mycroft’s toast.

Mycroft chuckles softly.

Greg sprinkles cinnamon and sugar over the toast and sets the plate in front of Mycroft with the cup of tea.

"Thank you, Gregory..." He murmured softly. "This smells wonderful."

“You’re welcome.” Greg smiles.

Mycroft eats neatly. "You're a generous host... Thank you for last night.... And this morning."

“Of course.”

Mycroft bit his lip. "I am sorry about last night, Gregory." He murmured. "I'm not usually so forward, and therefore panic attacks are rarely visible." He stared at his tea.

“My, there is nothing you have to be sorry for.” Greg says softly. “I want you to know that. Truly.” He smiles softly. “I’m sorry you panicked. If you want to continue doing things together like dates and kissing we’ll work on how to minimize the stress factors for you.”

Mycroft let out a breath. "I would like that. Very much." He murmured. Anthea is really the only one who knows I still have attacks, every now and again... Sherlock might suspect, but he hasn't mentioned anything and I'd like to keep it that way." He looked up at Greg.

Greg nods. “Thank you for telling me. I know it must be difficult for you to talk about and I’m very honored that you trust me to let me know.” He smiles softly. “I may take us some time to find a rhythm and all I ask is that you be patient with me because I’ll probably ask a lot of yes or no questions or check in a lot while we’re together or doing something. I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable and enjoying our time together.”

Mycroft nods. "I find that to be very agreeable." He said softly. "I hope that you'll show me the same courtesy, if I can't answer your questions straight away..."

“Of course. If you can’t answer whatever’s going on will stop until you can.” Greg agrees.

Mycroft gave a proper smile. "Thank you, Gregory." He takes the man's hand. "I should call a car around..." He murmured after a minute.

Greg smiles and squeezes his hand gently. “I can drive you if you’d like.” He offers. “Or if you’d like some time to decompress from being with me before work you can most definitely call a car to take you.”

"You're very kind, Gregory. I think I'll call a car." Mycroft murmured, giving a small smile. "You have to get to work."

“Probably but spending time with you is much more fun.”

Mycroft chuckles. "I’d prefer to spend time with you too, Gregory." He murmured. "Unfortunately, the London underworld and paperwork won't look after themselves." He sighed.

Greg hums and nods. “Maybe we can get together again some time this week if the schedules permit?”

"I'd like that." Mycroft nods. "My people will call your people?" He gave a small grin.

Greg laughs. “You’re adorable.”

Mycroft chuckles, pulling out his mobile phone and ordering a car to pick him up. "Have a good day, Gregory." He smiles.

“You too, My.” Greg smiles and walks him to the door.

Mycroft squeezes his hand and gives him a light, chaste kiss, before heading out the door and sliding into the backseat of the black town car.

Greg smiles and watches him go before getting ready for work.  
Meanwhile across town Sherlock is holding a bag of frozen peas to his arse after John pushed him out of bed during a nightmare. “John, I’m fine. The only reason I have this frozen mush on my arse is because you insisted. I’m fine.” Sherlock assures him.

John felt terrible. His nightmare had been vivid and he'd felt attacked, lashing out and causing Sherlock to fall right on his tailbone. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, but I should have come to sooner." He muttered. "Plus, I have a shift at Marigold House, I've got to make arrangements for a new secretary, and... You're sure you're all right?"

“I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve landed on my arse and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” Sherlock puts the peas down and goes to John. “I told you, Mycroft will have his assistant handle everything. You need a few days to recover.”

John clenched and unclenches his fists, trying to stay calm. "I'm fine." He murmurs.

“Are you saying that as a workaholic or a trained mental health professional?” Sherlock frowns.

John looks up. "Both, I suppose." He sighed. "I do have patients, Sherlock... I can't just leave them in the lurch." He clenched his hands again.

“They’re being seen to by someone in the interim.” Sherlock says softly. “You can’t help them if you can’t help yourself.” He frowns. “Just give it a day or two.”

John practically fell into his chair, tiredly. He hadn't slept well at all, as well as dealing with the nightmare. He sighed. "I don't know who she really was, but I've known Melinda for a year and she was a lovely person." He muttered.

“I’m sure she was. We’ll get this whole thing cleared up.” Sherlock kneels in front of him.

John watches Sherlock, tiredly. "I hope you're right, Sherlock..." He murmured, taking one of the man's larger hands in his.

“Of course I am.” Sherlock kisses Johns knuckles.

John smiled tiredly. "You're a life raft in this bloody storm." He murmured. "Thanks..."

Sherlock smiles softly. “How about you take a bath and a nap and I’ll get us some takeaway.”

John swallowed thickly. "You're brilliant." He said, softly. "Might have to get you to check on me if it gets too quiet... Might fall asleep in the warm water." He half-joked. "Don't need me going soggy."

“Can’t let you get too waterlogged.” Sherlock smiles softly. “Bubbles?”

John laughed quietly. "We have bubble bath?" He mused.

“Of course we do. Who takes a bath without bubbles?” Sherlock looks confused.

"Mmm... Many people." John smiled. "It's a bit of a luxury for me... Military precision and all that."

“I better not tell you about the bath bombs.” Sherlock chuckles.

"Poshboy likes his bath smellies, eh?" John laughed and bit back a yawn. "Figures. You always smell good."

Sherlock snorts. “I’ll go start the bath.” He stands.

John nodded. "Okay." He dragged his feet as he headed upstairs to get a fresh change of clothes and his dressing gown.

Sherlock starts the bath, pouring in salts and bubbles. He lights some candles too.

John raises his eyebrows as he wanders in. "Bloody hell, you went all out." He murmured.

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t have any champagne.”

John snorts. "As if I need to drink this early in the day." He teased. "This is lovely. No wonder the bathroom smells so good after you have a soak."

“Next time you can join me.” Sherlock smiles softly.

"I hope that's a standing invitation." John chuckles, beginning to undress.

“Always.” Sherlock smiles softly. “What do you want to eat?” He asks, taking John’s clothes and folding them.

John steps into the bath, allowing his feet to get used to the heat of the water before easing himself down to sit. "Whatever suits you." He murmured, stifling another yawn.

“How about Indian? We can scoops things up with naan?” Sherlock smiles softly.

"Sounds perfect." John murmurs, leaning back. "Thank you, Sherlock..."

“Of course, John.” Sherlock pets his hair gently, leaving the bathroom. He texts Anthea to get the notes of John’s patients so he can see how they’re doing with their interim therapist. He also has her send a list of secretaries that have been properly vetted that John can choose from. Then he orders takeaway. He changes the sheets on their bed and cleans up the room before going to check on John.

John is lying with his eyes closed, against the rim of the tub. He's quiet and relaxed.

Sherlock knocks gently and enters.

John doesn't answer, appearing relaxed, almost asleep.

“How are you feeling John?” Sherlock sits on the edge of the tub.

Silence.

“John?” Sherlock frowns and squeezes his shoulder.

John is quiet, eyes closed. His head looks to the side, like he's drunk.

“John? John wake up for me now.” Sherlock takes his pulse.

His pulse was elevated. He still doesn't wake.

“John, you wake up this instant.” Sherlock orders as he pulls out his phone. He calls Mycroft. “Ambulance. Ambulance now.” He cuts off any greeting remarks from Mycroft.

Mycroft doesn't ask questions and orders an ambulance.  
John begins to slip under the water.

“No no no.” Sherlock drops the phone. He pulls up the plug to drain the bath and pulls John up. “Wake up, damnit.”

John moans softly, but still won't wake up.

“Please, John. Please.” Sherlock begs, trying to John out of the bath.

There's a ring at the bell. The EMTs are there.

“Come up!” Sherlock shouts, he wasn’t going to leave John.

The young female EMT came in first and found Sherlock next to the tub. "We got a blue light call? What's going on?" She eyed the unconscious man in the tub. She sniffed the air. "Sir, I'm gonna need you to step out so we can get to him... What's his name?"

“J-John. John Watson.” Sherlock says as he’s moved out of the way.

"John? John? Can you open for me?" The woman asks. Her partner helps her get him out of the tub.

Sherlock watches, horrified. “H-he woke up from a nightmare. I made him get in the bath to help him relax. He was tired.” His brain isn’t working, he can’t think. How can he help John if he can’t think? His hands are shaking. Why are his hands shaking?

"Sir," the woman said calmly. "I need you to calm down." She put a towel over John to preserve his modesty. "We need to get him to the hospital.” She fixed a mask over John's face.

Sherlock nods and follows them out.

The EMTs get John strapped to the gurney and take him downstairs and put him in the back of the ambulance.  
Mycroft's car pulls up ahead. "Sherlock? What on earth...?"

“I.. I don’t know. He was taking a bath and I couldn’t wake him.” Sherlock trembles.

"We're taking him to St Thomas's." The EMT called.  
In a rare show of brotherly affection, Mycroft put his arms around Sherlock's shoulders.

“S-should I go with him?” Sherlock turns to Mycroft.

"I'll take you. You tell me everything you can." Mycroft nods to the ambulance. "We'll be right behind."

Sherlock gets in the car with Mycroft and tells him everything.

"How long have you had those particular bath products?" Mycroft asks.

“I change them out regularly.”

Mycroft pressed his lips together. "The candles? Were you feeling light headed?"

“I..” Sherlock frowns. “Maybe? I don’t know.” He sighs. “I couldn’t think. As soon as I saw John my brain turned off.”

Mycroft sent a text to Anthea to test the candles.

Sherlock sits in the car with his head in his hands.

Mycroft sighs. "We're here, Sherlock." He murmured, gently. "Did you wish for me to accompany you?"

“Please.” Sherlock nods, getting out. He could remember the last time he said please to Mycroft.

Mycroft nods to his driver, getting out of the car. The vehicle pulls away as the man leads his brother to the admin.  
"Looking for John Watson. He was brought in in a blue light ambulance." He flipped open an ID. The nurse swallowed and typed into the computer.  
"They're working on him in CCU. He coded and they've stabilised him."

Sherlock’s knees almost buckles. He almost lost John.

Mycroft helps him stand. "Where is he?" He asked quietly, dangerously.  
"You...you can't see him yet." The nurse trembles.  
"*WHERE IS HE?*"  
The nurse told him and pointed the way.

Sherlock took off towards the room, almost stumbling.

Mycroft caught up to him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. John was hooked up to oxygen and a saline bag until they knew what had happened.  
He looked small and pale in the white bed linen and a person in scrubs and a mask seemed to be tinkering with something. Brusquely, they pulled out a syringe and made it stick in the cannula.  
Mycroft strode in as they were about to depress the plunger on the air filled syringe.  
"I don't think so." He said, coldly.  
The person jumped, struggling in Mycroft's iron grip and grunted trying to get away.

Sherlock wraps his arm around the person's neck, dragging them off in a choke hold.

The woman gagged and tried to stick either of them with the needle, but Mycroft managed to get it out of her hand.

Sherlock’s hold only tightens, close to crushing her windpipe.

Mycroft slams the Emergency button and a nurse runs in. "Call security! This woman was about to administer an air embolism!"  
The nurse scurried away, after looking at the struggling woman.

Sherlock’s grips tightens, ignoring the nails clawing into his arm. He wrapped his other arm around the rib cage, crushing pressure.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft said, warningly as security came charging in, taking over. "Let go."

Sherlock snarls as he’s ripped away.

Mycroft puts a firm hand on his arm. "I believe this is who murdered John's secretary. Trying to get close to John to murder him?" He growled.  
"Fuck you!" The woman spat as the mask was ripped off her face.

Sherlock lunges, Mycroft’s grip on him the only thing holding him back from tackling that murderous bitch.

"Rosamund Moran." Mycroft said with disgust. "Or are you still going by Mary?"  
"Fuck off." The woman glowered. "If I can make life painful for you, I fucking will!"  
"Are these James' orders, perchance?" Mycroft asked, knowing she wouldn't answer. As he thought, she just sneered. "I see. Sherlock. Stay with John." He unlocked his phone and sent a message to his agents to collect the rogue assassin. "I'll be back soon."

Sherlock glares at the woman before going back to John. He sits by his side and takes his hand.

Mycroft's men were summoned to the hospital and managed to drag the hissing, spitting woman away to the bowels of Vauxhall where she would be subjected to interrogation for her work with Jim Moriarty and with the killing of a Russian spy.  
Mycroft watched them take her away as Anthea's name appeared on his phone screen. "Anthea?" He asked. "Any news about the candles? Were they altered??"

“They were burnt and a neural paralyzing agent as added to the hot wax before it was cooled. When Sherlock lit the candles again the chemical was released into the air.” Anthea sighs. “The effects should wear off shortly after the subject is taken away from exposure. He was supposed to suffocate when his respiratory muscles became to relaxed to breathe.”

Mycroft swore in three different languages. "We may have caught the culprit... Rosamund Moran." He muttered. "She's being transferred to Vauxhall now. I think she was ordered to cause Sherlock pain in the best way possible." He growled softly. "I'll relay the information to the doctors, and I will be there soon."

“I’ll have the interrogation room prepared for her.” Anthea growls.

Mycroft rang off and headed back to John's room where the man was shifting slightly, but not quite conscious.

Sherlock holds John’s hand tight.

Mycroft quietly relays the information to the doctor, seeing over John's recovery, before looking at Sherlock.  
"Sherlock, I must get back to work. Shall I take you home, or would you rather stay with John?"  
"Sh'lock..." John moaned softly.

“I’m not leaving.” Sherlock tells Mycroft, not taking his eyes off John. “I’m here, John. I’m right here.” He squeezes John’s hand.

"It'll take some time for the toxin to fully work out of his system." The doctor said. "We'll take obs every hour, and we'll keep him in overnight to make sure he's stable."  
A crease formed in the middle of John's forehead as he frowned. "Noooo.... sh'lock... g't'oout.... you'll get'uuurt."  
"Does he have a history of sleep disorders?" The Doctor asked, alarmed.

“He suffers from PTSD night terrors.” Sherlock frowns. “I’m not leaving you.” He looks at John.

The doctor makes a note as Mycroft slips away. "I'll get him something to help him sleep a little easier. With his mind coming back to him, he might suffer them more than usual."  
Though his voice is muffled by the oxygen mask, John cries quietly in his sleep.

“I’m here. I’m right here, John.” Sherlock holds John’s arm close, kissing it.

A nurse comes in with a dose of a sedative to calm the man and gives Sherlock a small smile. "Your husband is lucky to have you." She murmurs. "He'll probably be out all night while he... 'reboots', for lack of a better term..."  
John began to calm down and fell into a deep, even sleep.

Sherlock nods, feeling so guilty.

The nurse leaves, lowering the lights of the room.

Sherlock crawls into bed with John, holding him close.

During the night, John began to rouse again, snuggling against the warm body next to him.

Sherlock holds John close, running his fingers through John’s hair.

"Sh'lock?" John murmurs. "S'wrong?" He nuzzles sleepily into the man's side. "Danger night?"

“No, John. Everything’s alright.” Sherlock says softly.

"Mmm..." John snuggles closer, wincing at the pull of the cannula in the back of his hand.

Sherlock adjusts the tubes, kissing John’s head.

"Where're we?" John murmurs through an aborted yawn. "S'not home..."

“Hospital. Apparently a spy had gotten into the flat and contaminated the candles in the bathroom. When I lit them they made you sick. I’m so sorry, John.” Sherlock frowns.

John opens his heavy eyes. "S'ok." He said after a full minute of trying to sort his thoughts out. "Shit happens." He snuggles against the taller man. "Bet your brother's henchmen will be going over the flat with a fine tooth comb..."

“I’m sure.” Sherlock rubs his back.

John drifts off again, snoring softly.

Sherlock keeps a close watch.

John sleeps through the rest of the night, not even stirring for the hourly observations, which looked much better, now the toxin was all but gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and let us know what you think!


	5. Five

Sherlock was out in the hall talking to the doctors when John woke.

"Sherlock?" John yawned, trying to sit up in bed.

Sherlock goes immediately to John. “How are you feeling?”

"Hungry..." John smiled. "Never did get any of that Indian food..."

“I know. I’m sorry.” Sherlock smiles softly, so relieved. “All of your tests have come back good. Your oxygen levels are great. You’ll probably be discharged soon.”

"Thank Christ..." John smiled. "I hate being a patient..." He huffs. "What... What happened?" He is fuzzy on the details from last night.

“A spy contaminated the candles. When I lit them they released a toxin.” Sherlock frowns.

John's eyes widened. "Jesus..." He muttered. "But... We're both going to be alright?"

Sherlock nods. “There’s no long lasting effects. The toxin acts as a muscle relaxer which makes breathing slow until you suffocate.”

John blanched. "Jesus." He said again. "I... Guess you're relaxed at least... But damn."

Sherlock frowns and nods. “I had to pull you out of the tub.”

"Oh, Sherlock..." John held his hand out to grasp the taller man's. "I'm sorry..." He bit his lip.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I swear, John. I’m so sorry.” Sherlock tears up, feeling so guilty.

John frowns. "Sherlock." He said, seriously. "I don't blame you. Not at all." He reaches up and wipes away Sherlock's tears with his free hand. "It was neither of our faults. I want you to remember that, all right?"

“I should have known. I should have protected you. I suggested you take the bath. I lit the candles.” Sherlock trembles a bit. “You coded.”

John takes a breath. So that's why his chest was sore. The paddles. "*Sherlock*." He said again. "It was *not* your fault. How were you supposed to know? The toxin was sealed in wax...not even your brilliant nose would be able to detect that under the fragrance." He squeezed his hand again. "I'm okay."

Sherlock sniffles and nods.

John draws him down to hug him awkwardly. "C'mere."

Sherlock crawls bed with John and holds him close.

John cuddles him close as a nurse comes to remove the cannula. He smiles softly.

“I agreed to let Mycroft instal cameras in the flat. Not in the bedrooms or bathroom.” Sherlock says softly.

John nods. "That's fair." He murmured. "Be good to keep Mrs H in the loop, too." He kissed Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock nods, slowly relaxing. “Mycroft is putting us up in a resort for a few days while you recover and they make sure the flat is safe.”

John laughed. "We'll, I hope someone thought to bring me clothes... Can't leave here stark bollock naked..."

“Your overnight bag is on the chair and our other things will be at the resort when we arrive.” Sherlock nods.

John smiles. "You think of everything." He murmurs. "Brilliant."  
Soon, he had to get up and piss, decided to shower quickly and throw on his clothes.

Sherlock does his best not to hover but he doesn’t let John out of his sight.

"Sherlock." John smiles. "I'm all right." He puts his arms around Sherlock's waist and kisses him. "I promise."

“I know.” Sherlock kisses him back. “Just making sure.” He nuzzles him. “Your discharge papers are ready for you to sign.”

John nods and slips his feet into his shoes, signing the papers and sitting in the wheelchair that would take him to the entrance. The doctor had left a script for mild pain killers for his chest and a mild sedative to help him sleep, if he needed it, though he doubted it.

Sherlock pushes John out to a waiting SUV.

John sighs and climbs gingerly into the car. A nurse takes the wheelchair from Sherlock and leaves.

Sherlock gets in after John. He picks up a folder from the seat and hands it to John. “These are notes for your patients and their work with their interim therapist. There is also a list of experienced non-spy secretaries. When we get to the resort we’ll get you something to eat. They also have a hot tub if you’d like to relax in it. I’m sure your chest is sore so will fill your prescriptions as well.”

John looks at the folder and back up at Sherlock. "Tell me truthfully." He murmured. "Do you think I should stay at Marigold House? I feel like since someone has it in for me, maybe I should cut back... Hell, maybe even find a new job." He looks worried. "I love my job, and it has ups and downs... But..." He shrugs his good shoulder.

“I..” Sherlock sighs. “I don’t have enough data yet to make a fully formed opinion. I’m not sure if these attacks were directed against you or because you treated someone and they told you something that makes you liable. That is also part of the reason why we’re going to a resort that is private and highly secured. Usually only government officials and those in the entertainment industry know of this place. We have to wait for more data.” He says softly. Mycroft had offered Sherlock to investigate but he chose John over the case.

John nodded slowly. "Okay..." He murmured. "If it was someone I treated, then they have a funny way of understanding doctor/patient confidentiality." He sighed and rubbed his chest. "I'll give it more thought." He licks his lips.

“You don’t need to decide anything now. You are recuperating and I will help you with whatever you need.” Sherlock pushes a button and a panel slides open. “Thirsty?” He asks, reaching for a water bottle.

"Parched." John smiled, taking the small bottle. He considered his next words. They'd only been together little more than a week, but he bit his lip. "I love you."

Sherlock stares at John and just blinks.

John snaps his mouth shut and states out the window, blushing furiously. *Shit... Fucked it up now, Watson, old boy...*

As soon as Sherlock’s brain comes back online he grabs John by his shirt and pulls him close, kissing him deeply.

John squeaks and spills his water, freezing slightly at the 'attack', but melting into the kiss.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you.” Sherlock mumbles between kisses.

John feels a giggle bubble painfully in his chest. "I thought you were going to kick me out of the car..." He whispers, finally pulling back.

“Never. Never ever ever. I want you with me. Always.” Sherlock wipes up John’s spilled water. “I’m sorry. I probably hurt your chest.” He frowns.

"It's fine, it's all fine." John muttered softly, pressing another kiss to his face. "I want to be with you. Always."

Sherlock nuzzles him, holding him close. “You have me. Always.”

John laughed, wincing as his chest hurt. "We nearly there?" He whispers.

“Yes. They also have treatments to help get rid of whatever toxins may still be left in your system.”

"I think the treatment I need right now is you." He murmured.

“We’ll go to bed and order food.”

John nodded. "Fantastic."

“They’ll make whatever you want.” Sherlock says as they finally pull up at the resort.

"I'll have a think." John said. "Probably something small... Grilled cheese sandwich." He chuckles quietly.

“Tomato soup with it?” Sherlock opens the door and gets out, holding his hand out to John.

John follows. "Lovely." He murmured. "How'd I get lucky enough to have you, hmm?"

“How did I get so lucky that you’d stay with me?” Sherlock leads John to their room and puts in a code on the keypad.

John smiles. "Found each other, like a scavenger hunt, we did." He murmured, looking around the suite, gaping. "Jeeesus..."

“Impressed?” Sherlock smiles softly and follows him inside the huge posh room.

"Blimey. Must cost a few quid to stay here. No wonder it's just for celebs and the government." John laughed quietly.

“People who can afford it.” Sherlock hums, following John.

John sat down on an incredibly squashy sofa and was almost swallowed up by it. "Plush."

“Good?” Sherlock goes to their bags. “Should I get you out a pair of pajamas so you can be more comfortable?”

"I'm fine, Sherlock... No need to hover." John struggles out of the chair and smiles. "These clothes are comfy... If I need a nap, I'll be fine." He walks over to Sherlock.

“Okay.” Sherlock rests his hands on John’s hips. “Tea? And I’ll order food.”

John smiles. "Good idea." He heads to the small kitchen to busy himself with making tea.

Sherlock orders them a nice big spread since John hasn’t eaten in more than twenty four hours. Then he brings John the book of the different spa treatments.

"Mm... Don't think I want to do the general relaxing thing right now..." John gave a small smile. "Just normal relaxing..."

“Tomorrow. Tonight is just us.” Sherlock presses against his back, holding him close gently.

"Today *and* tonight." John smiles. "We weren't in the car that long, were we?" He chuckles, pressing back against him.

“No. Less than an hour.” Sherlock kisses his head.

John sighs. "This is nice." He turned in Sherlock's arms and looked up at the taller man.

“Anything with you is nice.” Sherlock leans in and kisses his cheek.

John moves his head to capture Sherlock's lips in his.  
"I should thank you properly... For saving my life." He murmured softly.

“Hardly, John.” Sherlock mumbles as he kisses him back. “For now you are going to eat and take your pain medicine for your chest.” He nuzzles him as there’s a knock on the door.

John sighs softly. "If I must." He said, amiably. "Answer the door? I'll get a glass of water."

“Yes, Captain.” Sherlock nods and goes to the door. He brings in the cart full of food as well as John’s prescription that was hand delivered by one of Mycroft’s people.

John fills a glass from the kitchenette sink and turns, looking at the amount of food. "Shit." He laughed. "Trying to fatten me up?"

“No but I wanted you to have a selection in case tomato soup and grilled cheese wasn’t enough. We can put the leftovers in the fridge.” Sherlock blushes a bit. He wanted John to have everything he needed.

"Sherlock..." John's face softened. "That's lovely..."

Sherlock blushes more. “Sit.” He nods to the table and brings the cart over. “The prescription says you have to take them after eating.”

John grumbles good naturedly. "I've never liked taking medication." He murmured, but sat down.

“I know. Doctors make the worst patients.” Sherlock nods. “But if you’re good and you eat I’ll do anything you’d like.”

John laughed quietly. "Not above bribery, then." He muttered. "Must be a family trait." His eyes shone with laughter. He took a half of the grilled cheese sandwich and took a bite, just as his stomach grumbled.

Sherlock snorts. “Probably.”

John chuckled around the mouthful and shook his head. "Bloody Holmeses." He murmurs, swallowing.

“As long as you like me more than him we’re fine.” Sherlock smirks.

John makes a face. "Well, I don't want to sleep with your pompous git of a brother, Sherlock. I think you're in the clear."

“Thank goodness for that.” Sherlock laughs.

John took a mouthful of soup. "Are you going to eat something?"

“I suppose.” Sherlock starts to eat.

John smirked. "Good man." He said softly, running a hand through Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock melts, pressing his head to John’s hand gently.

John massages his scalp gently.

Sherlock all but purrs, relaxing for the first time since seeing John unconscious in the bath.

"You like me playing with your hair, hmm?" John chuckles. "You're just a big cat..."

“Feels nice.” Sherlock nods.

John finishes his sandwich and wipes his hand on a napkin, before coaxing Sherlock to lay his head on his lap so that John could massage his scalp gently.

Sherlock kneels in front of John and rests his head in his lap. “You’re too good to me. I’m going to get spoiled at this rate.” He mumbles.

John chuckles. "Spoiled catlock." He murmured, still stroking the man's curls.

“All yours.” Sherlock mumbles, wrapping his arms around John’s waist.

John chuckles softly. "You falling asleep before me?" He whispered, picking up his prescription bottle and taking the pill, swallowing it down with a gulp of water and made a face. Then he went back to stroking Sherlock's hair, moving to his neck and shoulders.

“You relax me. No used to being touched nicely.” Sherlock kisses his thigh.

John chuckles again. "Well, get used to it." He murmurs. He hums a little as his thigh is kissed.

“I’ll have to get a lot of practice then.” Sherlock nuzzles John’s belly.

John smiles, tugging at a lock of hair gently.

Sherlock gasps softly, arching a bit.

"Like that?" He murmurs, tugging again.

He moans, pressing closer.

John feels his cock twitch at the sound and the feel of Sherlock's moans. He hums with a smile and tweaks another lock of hair. "God you sound gorgeous."

“John.” Sherlock mewls, nuzzling into his crotch.

John moans himself. "Sherlock..." He breathes. Biting his lip, he looks down at the man's head with clouded eyes.

“Can I?” Sherlock looks up at him.

John nods slowly. "Please..."

Sherlock pulls John’s trousers down with his pants, letting his cock out. He nuzzles it before kissing up the length.

John lifts his hips to help Sherlock some and whines at the cool air touching the hot skin of his half hard cock. Under Sherlock's ministrations, he's soon at full mast and moaning softly.

Sherlock takes John’s cock into his mouth, letting him slide down his throat.

"Sher-LOCK..." John grips his hair in a tight grip, forcing his hips not to thrust. "Fuuuck!"

Sherlock bobs his head slowly, moaning around John’s cock.

John keeps his grip tight, but allows Sherlock to lead. He throws his head back against the couch and moans, deep in his chest. Fuck, the man's mouth was sinful!

Sherlock hallows his cheek, keeping suction as he rolls John’s balls in his hand.

"She-sherlock..." John swallows hard. "Fuck, oh, *FUCK*... yes..."

Sherlock slowly pulls off. “Okay?” He looks up at him.

John exhales through his nose, nodding enthusiastically. "More than okay..." He whimpers.

“I’ll get back to it then.” Sherlock grins and takes John’s cock back into his mouth.

John whines and thrusts his hips slightly. "God, I love your mouth, Sherlock... feels so good... " He can feel his orgasm beginning to boil in the base of his spine.

Sherlock presses his nose to John’s skin, licking his balls with his tongue.

"Christ... Sherlock..." John moans. "Gonna cum, baby... gon...na...." He pulled against Sherlock's hair warningly.

Sherlock swallows, working his throat muscles around his cock.

John cries out as his orgasm peaks and his cums hard in Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock swallows happily.

"Jeeeesus..." John pants, loosening his hands from Sherlock's hair. "God, you're fucking gorgeous..." He laughed breathlessly.

Sherlock slowly pulls off and licks his cock clean. He smiles up at him.

John looks at him with a satisfied smile on his face. "Get up here..." He murmurs.

Sherlock crawls up onto the couch and cuddles John carefully after pulling his pants and trousers back up.

John laughs quietly, hand pressing against the taller man's crotch. "What me to help with that?"

Sherlock moans, pressing his face to John’s neck. “You don’t have to.”

"Mmm... but I want to..." John murmurs. "You want my hand or my mouth, love?"

“Hands. Love your hands.” Sherlock rolls into his hand.

John chuckles softly, undoing Sherlock's trousers and slipping his left hand under the waistband of trousers and pants, wrapping his fingers around the hot length there. He shivered lightly, stroking.

“John.” Sherlock whimpers.

"Yes, love?" John murmurs. "Tell me what you want..."

“T-talk to me.” Sherlock rocks into his hand.

John nodded. "You're so beautiful..." He murmured. "Look at you, flushed pink and fucking into my hand... those beautiful lips still swollen from sucking me off.... god, you're fucking gorgeous..." He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the head of Sherlock's cock. "I'm going to make you cum all over my hand, Sherlock... and tonight, I'm going to fuck you slowly until you're crazy with want..."

Sherlock cries out and comes hard over John’s hand.

John smiled, stroking him through his orgasm, rubbing cum into the skin, until Sherlock stops twitching. He raises his hand to his mouth and puts a finger in his mouth, sucking the ejaculate off as he watches Sherlock. "Good boy..."

Sherlock pants as he watches John, leaning in and kissing him deeply.

John licks into his mouth, snogging him breathlessly.

Sherlock holds John close, being careful of his chest.

John nuzzles into his neck. "I'm not made of glass, love." He whispered. "Barely hurts, now..."

“That’s because of the pain meds.” Sherlock kisses his head.

"Mmm... maybe, but I'm still not made of glass... stop fretting." John chuckled, pushing him back against the couch and snuggling into him.

Sherlock cuddles him close, wrapping his arms around him. “Yes, Captain.”

John slowly falls asleep, feeling content, warm and loved.

Sherlock rubs his back, falling asleep with him after a bit.

A few hours later, John blinks his eyes open. It's dusk. The room is full of blueish gray twilight as the sun sinks in the west. He yawns slightly and stretches.

“Doing alright?” Sherlock asks softly.

John nods slowly, his memories rushing back. "Forgot where we were for a minute." He murmurs.

“Mm..” Sherlock runs his fingers through John’s hair.

John smiles. "Mmm, that feels nice." He looks up. "Should probably have some dinner. I seem to remember promising you a shag."

“Indeed.” Sherlock chuckles.

"Let me up, then." John smirks. "What else is on this tea trolley we completely forgot to put in the fridge? Might be better to just order something new." He laughed quietly.

Sherlock hums and let’s John go. “Can’t have you getting food poisoning.” He nods and gets up, getting the menu for John to look through.

John smiles, taking the menu and perusing. Looking up at Sherlock, he handed it back. "You need to eat something too." He murmurs. "I'll order when you've decided."

“I’ll have whatever.” Sherlock picks the nonperishable off the cart and putting them in the kitchen before putting the cart in the hall.

"Sherlock." John says, warningly.

Sherlock sighs and goes to him, looking at the menu. “Lobster risotto.”

"Good." John smirks. He was realising Sherlock liked to be ordered, whether he'd admit it or not. He picked up the phone and rang the extension for room service. After putting in an order for a serving of lobster risotto and a plate of bacon alfredo for himself, plus a side order of herb and cheese bread for them both, he hung up and smiled.

“We can eat out on the balcony and watch the sunset.” Sherlock hums.

"Sounds good." John smiled, putting his arms around Sherlock's waist.

Sherlock smiles and nuzzles him.

"Love you." John murmurs. "Anything special you want tonight?" He winked.

“I love you, too.” Sherlock grins. “I don’t know. Any ideas?”

John chuckles, shaking his head. "And here I was thinking you liked taking orders." He murmured, teasing.

Sherlock blushes. “I do..”

John smirks as there's a knock at the door. "Mmm... Going to have fun with that." He murmured. He kisses the man and heads to the door to accept the room service.

Sherlock blushes and follows John, pushing the cart out to the balcony.

John thanks the waiter before heading to the balcony. The service had gifted them a bottle of chilled white wine and two glasses. "Hmm... This looks good. Almost as good as you."

Sherlock blushes and smiles. “I’ll get the bottle opener.”

John chuckled and put the plates on the small table. It smelled wonderful. Having only had the sandwich and a few mouthfuls of soup, his mouth watered.

Sherlock comes back with the bottle opener and pulls out the cork on the wine, pouring them both a glass. “On second thought, should you drink with the pain medicine?”

John sighed. "Honestly, my chest doesn't feel too bad. The painkillers I took at lunch have worn off." He smiles softly. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll have a lemonade from the fridge."

“Mm I’ve already poured it..” Sherlock bites his lip. “Just one glass should be fine.”

John smiles, lifting the glass. "Cheers." He murmured. "Let's eat, hmmm?"

Sherlock smiles and sits. “Cheers, John.” He nods and starts to eat.

John eats his pasta, wiping up sauce with the bread. "How's your risotto?" He asks, watching Sherlock with a smile.

“Delicious. Would you like some?” Sherlock offers.

John smiles. "No thank you, love. Never been the biggest fan of shellfish." He sips his wine. "As long as you enjoy it, that's all that matters."

Sherlock hums and nods. “I like learning things about you.”

John laughs. "I like learning new things about you." He murmurs. "I look forward to learning more."

Sherlock smiles as he reaches out, taking john's hand over the table and kisses his knuckles.

John blushes softly. "What was that for?" He asks, fondly.

“It had been too long since I kissed you last.” Sherlock smiles softly.

"Couple of minutes at most." John laughs. "Is everything all right?"

Sherlock nods. “Getting better all the time.”

John smiles. "Well." He said, taking his hand back. "Are you ready to start taking orders?" He smirks.

Sherlock blushes and swallows. “Yes.”

"Good boy." John purrs. "Then, get up and go to the bedroom." He licked his lips.

Sherlock does as he’s told and goes.

John follows a few moments later. He leans against the doorframe. "Undress for me. *Slowly*."

Sherlock unbuttons his cuffs, taking his time unbuttoning his shirt.

John licks his lips, watching intently. "Gorgeous." He breathes, feeling himself beginning to harden.

Sherlock lets his shirt slip to the floor, running his hands over his chest.

Johns breaths get heavier. "Trousers, Sherlock." He says.

Sherlock opens his belt and pulls it out, dropping it with his shirt before unbuttoning his trousers, pulling the zip down so slowly.

John palms himself through his trousers. He groans softly. "Good boy." He praises, softly.

“John..” Sherlock gasps softly and blushes at the praise.

"On the bed, love." He says, smiling softly. "On your back."

Sherlock scrambles up onto the bed, laying back. He smiles at John, excited.

John takes a moment or two to undress down to his pants. He smiles at Sherlock's excitement.  
Crawling up onto the bed, he straddles Sherlock's thighs, palming himself through the thin material and eyeing the bulge in Sherlock's pants.

Sherlock whimpers, his cock throbbing just looking at John.

John smirks and leans forward, pinning the man's wrists under his own hands, rubbing their clothed cocks together. "You're not going to cum until I let you." He whispered.

“Y-yes, John.” Sherlock nods, moaning at the friction.

"Promise?" John smirked, rubbing against him, teasingly.

“Promise. I promise.” He arches.

"Mmmm, good boy." John drops down to kiss him, sliding his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. All while still slowly frotting.

Sherlock moans into the kiss, sucking on John’s tongue.

John pulls back and grins. "You are so fucking gorgeous." He twists his hips slightly.

Sherlock’s blush spreads down his neck and chest. “John. You’re so good. So so good.” He writhes under him, his pants soaked with his leaking.

"This is about you, love." John murmurs. "Now..." He palmed Sherlock through the soaked material. "Be a good boy." He winks and sits up, shimmying back until he can pull Sherlock's underwear off, tossing them to the side. Stroking the leaking cock, he gently pressed his thumb to the underside of the base to stave off orgasm.

Sherlock whines softly, taking some deep breaths so he doesn’t come.

John chuckles. "Might have to invest in a cock ring." He teases, gently. Taking a small packet of KY he'd swiped from the hospital from his discarded trousers, he looked up at Sherlock. "Like this? Or on your stomach?" He hummed.

“Want to see you. Please.” Sherlock pants.

John smiles, helping him tuck pillows under his hips. "Look at you..." He hums, appreciatively.

“Like what you see?” Sherlock purrs, his legs spread.

John groans, palming himself again. "You have no idea." He murmured. Reaching out and brushing the pad of his thumb over the furled skin of Sherlock's arse, he smiles.

“Going to fuck me with your big cock?” Sherlock licks his lips as he watches John touch himself.

"Would you like that, Sherlock? You want me to fuck you?"

“Yes!”

John chuckles. "I should make you beg." He murmured, brushing his fingers over Sherlock's entrance again.

Sherlock whines, rocking against John's fingers. “Johnnnnnn.”

John chuckles, pulling away and tearing open the lube packet with his teeth, dribbling some of the cold liquid over his finger and more onto Sherlock. "Shh, love."

Sherlock blushes, relaxing for John.

John works slowly, teasingly, methodically, preparing Sherlock.

Sherlock moans and rocks his hips.

"Shh..." John smiles. "You're so beautiful."

Sherlock blushes, head thrown back as he breathes.

John pulls his hands free and licks his lips, looking at Sherlock with darkened eyes. He leans his head down and licks a long stripe up Sherlock's cock, catching a dribble of precome there.

“John!” Sherlock gasps.

"Mmm..." John mumbles.

“Fuck me fuck me fuck me.” Sherlock begs.

John looks up, chuckling softly. "Soon, baby..." He assures. He leans down and drags his tongue over Sherlock's balls, getting him good and worked up, before pulling away abruptly and taking off his own pants, letting his throbbing cock spring free, swollen and almost purple.

Sherlock whines and writhes. “John please.”

John chuckled, before slicking his cock with the leftover KY and lining himself up. "I was hoping for making you beg twice... but I think that was at least four times." He murmured, teasingly as he pushed inside in one swift movement.

“Yes!” Sherlock cries out in relief.

John sets up a brutal pace, the teasing and prepping causing him to get painfully hard. The air rent with the sounds of flesh slapping flesh and satisfied moans.

Sherlock pulls John in and kisses him deeply, holding him close.

John kisses him deeply, sucking on his tongue, hips pistoning against Sherlock's. Pulling back, he smirks, dragging Sherlock's long legs over his shoulders to achieve a deeper penetration.

“John John John John.” Sherlock chants as John rams his prostate.

"You want to come, baby?" John growled, slamming into him. "Soon, I promise."

“I love you. I love you so much.” Sherlock looks up at him.

"I love you too." John feels his orgasm racing through him and reaches down to stroke Sherlock. "Together."

“Please.” Sherlock nods and begs.

John stroked him in tandem with his thrusts. "Come for me, love!" He growls as the force of his own orgasm hits him like a freight train.

Sherlock cries out, coming so hard it hits his chin and spots dance in his eyes.

John slumps against him, groaning as aftershocks rent through his lower body. "Fuuuck..." He panted.

Sherlock’s legs slowly slide off John’s shoulders as he pants, eyes close.

John rolls to the side, wincing as he pulls out of Sherlock, his cock sore. "Alright?" He murmurs, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Sherlock's sweaty forehead.

“Je n'ai jamais été aussi difficile de ma vie..” Sherlock mumbles, slurred.

John laughs breathlessly. "I broke you." He said, fondly. "I can't speak French, Sherlock..."

“Français?” Sherlock looks at him confined. “Oh.” He blushes and giggles.

John chuckles softly. "Mmm... I changed your language setting, it seems." He kissed the man, languidly.

Sherlock kisses him back, pouring his love into it. “I said ‘I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life’.” He mumbles against John’s lips.

John laughs into the kiss. "Mmm... me either."

Sherlock hums softly, kissing John’s neck.

John sighs, content.

Sherlock cuddles into his side, pressing kisses to John’s skin. “Your chest isn’t going to be happy with you.”

John coughs softly. "Worth it." He murmurs. "Should get cleaned up..." He yawns.

“Probably. I’ll do it. You stay here.” Sherlock gets up and goes to the bathroom.

John raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, too tired.

Sherlock cleans himself up. He comes back and wipes John’s cock off.

John groans softly. "Jeeesus..." He whines.

“Sorry.” Sherlock cleans him up gently.

John shakes his head. "S'alright.... just tender." He laughs. "I think you're going to be walking funny for a few days." He teased.

“My arse will be fine.” Sherlock snorts.

John raises his eyebrows. "I'll have to recharge properly before I try again, then." He teases.

“Keep this up and your cock will fall off.” Sherlock laughs, tossing the wash cloth towards the bathroom.

"Might have to start using toys." John quipped back, falling into a doze.

“I wouldn’t be opposed.” Sherlock chuckles and pulls the covers up around John.

"Mmm..." John drops off into a deep sleep.

Sherlock brushes John’s hair back, watching him.

John nuzzles into Sherlock's touch.

Sherlock smiles softly, watching John for a little longer before leaving him to rest. He closes the bedroom door gently and goes to the living room, calling Mycroft for an update.

The phone rings four times before Mycroft picks up. "Sherlock." He says, masking his exhaustion. "Worn John out all ready?"

“Is that wretched woman dead yet?” Sherlock nearly hisses.

Mycroft sighs. "She's refused to talk." He admitted. "She's a well trained freelance agent. Not even death scares her." A shuffling of papers.

“Of course not. Death is the end. Put her in a fucking box and let her rot for a few days. No light, barely any food or water, and just enough air to keep her conscious but her lungs burn.” Sherlock snarls.

'We would make great use of you here, Sherlock." Mycroft smirks. "How is John?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Fine. Medicated and fed. Your people are making good rounds.” He hums, having watched the agents from the balcony was they walked the grounds in plain clothes like guests but he could tell.

Mycroft hummed in response. He was keeping a watch on the CCTV, of course. "Good. The team are still sweeping the flat, and Mrs Hudson kindly kept them fed and watered with currant buns and tea." You could almost hear the rolling of his eyes. "You should be able to move back in in two days, granted they don't find anything else that may raise alarm. No stashes of cocaine or Morphine they need worry about?"

“Of course not though I’m sure you’ve already had sniffer dogs in and everything.” Sherlock hums. “And you treat Mrs. Hudson with the utmost respect or else.” He warns. “You should probably have a look in her flat as well. The whole of 221 Baker Street was breached.” He sighs, feeling awful for having her dragged into this. “Why John? What’s his connection to this?”

"We're still looking into it." Mycroft assured him. "At the moment, we're working on the theory that she's working for or with James Moriarty, and that she was dispatched by him to make life miserable for you." He sighs. "I don't want you engaging with James. We had enough trouble the last time."

Sherlock mutes the call and let’s put a stream of curses that would make the most hardened fighter blanch. He takes a breath and takes it off mute. “I see.” He grounds out.

"Sherlock. I mean it. Let us handle it." Mycroft says, warningly. "Look after John. I'll update you as I can, and will sweep A flat and C flat at 221."

“Yes yes fine. Maybe you should have Mrs. Hudson delivered to her sister’s for a few days.” He sighs.

Mycroft gave an exasperated sigh. "We've tried. She refuses to leave."

“I’ll call her.” Sherlock hums.

Mycroft sighs. "Fine. Is there anything else, Brother-Mine?"

“No. Just keep me updated. And..” Sherlock takes a breath. “Thank you.” He says quickly.

Mycroft is silent for a moment. "You're... welcome, Sherlock."

“Oh how was your date?” Sherlock smirks.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Good night, Sherlock."

“Ah so it was good.” Sherlock smiles a bit.

"Yes, Sherlock. My 'date' was lovely. Shall I pass on your regards?"

“Please do. I knew he’d treat you well.”

Mycroft exhaled through his nose, noisily, a sure sign he was both amused and annoyed, but could decide which he was more. "Well, I'm glad we both have your blessing. Good night, Sherlock."

“Get some sleep, Mycroft. I will as well.” Sherlock hums.

Mycroft hangs up the phone and looks at Greg. "Sherlock approves of us." He said with a small smirk.

“Is that so?” Greg chuckles, setting Mycroft’s cup of tea down on his desk.

Mycroft sighs quietly, smiling. "How did you know I needed a cup of tea?"  
They were in his home office. Mycroft leaned back in his chair and watched Greg over the rim of his cup.

“Because you’ve been shuffling that same stack of papers the whole time you were on the phone with Sherlock and rolled your eyes no less than three times.” Greg smiles softly.

"And that's why you became Detective Inspector." Mycroft smirks. He licks his lips. "Sherlock just wanted an appraisal of what's going on. Nothing more, nothing less."

“He’s not going to do anything stupid right?” Greg frowns a bit.

Mycroft sighs. "You know I can't answer that honestly." He murmured. "But I've put him in charge of looking after John, so hopefully he'll be too occupied."

“And I’m sure you have eyes on him.” Greg smiles softly. “Come have something to eat and then I’m putting you to bed.”

Mycroft nods, turning off his laptop and closing the lid, before getting up and following Greg to the kitchen.

“What would you like?” Greg asks, surveying the fridge.

"Honestly, I could just eat some toast." Mycroft says, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“Poached egg on toast?” Greg suggests.

He nods. "That sounds lovely." He smiles, tiredly.

“Sit down before you fall on your face.” Greg pulls out a chair for him and has him sit before he starts to cook.

Mycroft slumps into the chair and rests his face in his hands.

Greg cooks, soon setting a plate in front of Mycroft. “Eat and then we can go to bed and have a cuddle.” He says softly, not wanting to push Mycroft too hard.

Mycroft eats slowly, tiredly. He knows he needs to shower and to sleep. It's been an exhausting 48 hours.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Greg asks softly, sitting with him.

Mycroft smiles. "Just stay with me?" He murmurs.

“Always, My.” Greg smiles softly.

Mycroft stands and takes his hand. "Thank you." He murmurs.

Greg squeezes his hand gently.

Mycroft walks toward the stairs and trudges up to the bedroom, getting bed things together so that he can shower before bed.

Greg turns on the shower for him so it can heat up.

Mycroft bites his lip, watching. "Join me?" He whispers.

Greg blinks. “Really?” He asks. “You sure you’ll be comfortable with that?” He asks softly, a few days before Mycroft had panicked when they were together. “If it gets too much you can tell me to get out. I’ll only touch you where and how you indicate.”

Mycroft swallows against panic and nods. "Yes." He takes a breath, nodding again.

“I can sit on the closed toilet and be in the same room with you.” Greg offers. “Or I can sit on the bed and you can keep the bathroom door open.”

"No..." Mycroft says softly. "*With* me...?"

“You want me in the shower with you?” Greg makes sure he’s understanding correctly.

Mycroft nods. "Please?"

“Naked or wearing my pants?”

Mycroft swallows. "N-naked."

“Maybe we can start with me wearing pants and work up to being naked?” Greg asks, not wanting Mycroft to get overwhelmed.

Mycroft nods after a moment. He slowly strips down to his boxer briefs and steps into the shower.

Greg does the same and stands in the back of the shower, making sure there’s room between them. “How are we feeling?” He asks softly.

Mycroft is quiet for a moment. "Good." He sighs, realising he doesn't feel nearly as anxious as he had a few days ago.

“Okay good.” Greg smiles softly. “Can I wash your arm?”

Mycroft nods, a small smile on his face.

Greg smiles and lathers some soap in his hand. “I’ll take your arm whenever you’re ready.” He holds out his hands, letting Mycroft take his time.

Mycroft smiles, hesitates for only a few seconds, before reaching Greg.

Greg gently holds Mycroft’s hands in one of his. “I’m going to start here at your wrist and then slowly work my way up your arm to your shoulder.” He narrates as he goes so Mycroft knows exactly what he’s going to do next. “Is it easier for you if I ask yes or no questions so you can just nod or shake your head instead of replying verbally?” He asks as he rubs his soapy hand over Mycroft’s forearm to his bicep.

Mycroft closes his eyes and nods. Biting his lip, he relaxes into Greg's touch.

“Okay.” Greg nods, gently washing Mycroft’s arm. “You’re doing so good, My.” He praises. “Can I wash your armpit or is that too much?”

Mycroft nods again, his eyes still closed, enjoying the feeling of Greg's skin against his.

Greg nods and gently washes. “Ready for your other arm?”

"Yes, Gregory..." He murmured.

“You’re doing so well, My. I’m so proud of you.” Greg gently puts down Mycroft’s one arm. “Take a second and have a few breaths before you give me your other arm.” He says softly.

Mycroft does as he's told, feeling tingles of pleasure up and down his arm.

“Good. Very good.” Greg praises, starting to wash his second arm. “How are you feeling over all so far?”

"Tingley." Mycroft smiles slightly. "Feels... Nice."

“Good.” Greg chuckles softly and smiles, gently putting Mycroft’s arm back when he’s finished. “Would you like to do your chest or you back next?”

"Back... Please." Mycroft murmurs. "Your hands are lovely."

“I’m glad.” Greg smiles and moves behind Mycroft. “Can I massage your back a bit too as I wash?”

Mycroft nods slowly, making a small noise of assent.

Greg gets some more soap on his hands and starts at Mycroft’s shoulders, gently washing and massaging where his shoulders meet his neck.

Mycroft sucks in a breath suddenly, turning in Greg's arms and pushing him against the tiled walls, kissing him deeply.

Greg moans into the kiss, shocked but appreciative.

Mycroft pulls away, heat flooding his face. "I...don't know what came over me..." He murmurs in shock.

Greg smiles softly. “It’s okay. I think I touched a sweet spot.” He chuckles.

Mycroft gives a smile. "I think you might have..." He says, softly.

“How about you rest your head on my shoulder here and wrap your arms around my waist? That way you can hold me close and I can still get your back?” Greg smiles softly.

Mycroft nods and does as he's told, relaxing into Greg.

“There you go. Good man.” Greg gently starts to rub his hands over Mycroft’s lower back, staying above his pants.

"Gregory?" Mycroft says, softly.

“Yes, My?” Greg stills his hands.

"Would you..." He hedges. "Touch me?"

“Where would you like me to touch you, love?”

Mycroft bites his lip, willing himself to speak. "My...penis."

“I would love to touch your penis.” Greg smiles softly. “Maybe we can start like this. I’ll put my hand here and you can press against it whenever and however you like.” Greg situates his hand in front of Mycroft’s pants, just enough space for Mycroft to have to push forward to get contact.

Mycroft sighed and cants his hips forward, slowly. An electronic zing glowed up his spine at contact, despite the material between them, and his half hard cock twitched.

“You feel so good, My. I love touching you. Holding you. Being with you.” Greg praises.

"Gregory..." Mycroft breathes, his hips tilting to gain more contact. "Oohhhh... You hands..." He bit his lip.

“Can I rub you a little?” Greg asks.

"Please..." Mycroft nods into Greg's shoulder, shivering despite the hot water.

Greg presses his hand against him, rubbing slowly.

Mycroft jerks at the pressure, but moans softly as his cock hardens slowly. "Gregory..." He whispers.

“I’m right here. If you need space you can back up.” Greg says softly.

Mycroft whimpers. He hasn't let himself be touched by another person in years. "I ... I need..." He breathed. "God, it feels good." He seemed to be reduced to religious epithets when with Greg, something he didn't normally do.

Greg let’s his free hand roam up, gently rubbing the sweet spot on Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft whined, shamelessly humping into Greg's hand, coming embarrassingly quickly in his pants.

“Beautiful. You’re so gorgeous. You did so good. You came so hard for me. Wonderful, My.” Greg holds him, lavishing him in praise.

Mycroft slumps against him, feeling quite boneless. He hardly ever pleasures himself these days, but Greg's words thrill him. "Gregory..." He looks up and boldly kisses him.

Greg holds him close and kisses him back deeply, pouring all his love and affection into it.

Mycroft's breathing eases as the water begins to cool.

“Would you like to finish washing or get out now?” Mycroft asks softly.

Mycroft sighs. "I'll clean up, meet you in the bedroom?" He asked, shyly.

“Okay.” Greg smiles softly and nods. He kisses Mycroft softly and lets him go before getting out of the shower.

He quickly peels away his pants, washes himself off, shivering in the cool water, before turning off the faucet and towelling himself off.

Greg had dried himself off and changed into his pajamas. He was laying on Mycroft’s side of the bed to warm it up for him.

Mycroft entered, wearing forest green pajama pants and a soft grey t-shirt, his Auburn hair missed from the towel. He smiled at Greg, feeling more relaxed than he had been in ages.

Greg smiles and scoots over to his side of the bed. “All warmed up for you.”

"Spoiling me, Gregory." He playfully admonishes.

“You deserve it.” He grins.

Mycroft lays down, pulling the covers up. "Thank you." He murmured, sincerely.

“My absolute pleasure.” Greg smiles softly.

"Can... Can I repay the gesture?"

“You don’t have to, My.”

"I... Want to... If you want me to..."

“Do you honestly want to get me off or would you rather a cuddle? I am perfectly fine with either one.”

Mycroft bit his lip. "Surely you're feeling... Uncomfortable?" He give a pointed look. "I'd... Like to."

“It’s not too bad.” Greg chuckles softly. “But you’re more than welcome to touch me.” He smiles softly.

Mycroft lay on the pillow, snuggling into Greg's side, slowly and carefully beginning to touch him, mapping with his fingers, learning the man's most intimate areas.

Greg’s eyes closed moaning softly as Mycroft started to touch him.

Encouraged, Mycroft begins to stroke the man through his pajamas. "Like that?"

“Love your hands on me.” Greg nods, his cock getting harder against Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft sighs and in a bold move, slips his hand under the waistband, pressing his hand to the sensitive skin of Greg's cock. He freezes for a moment, biting his lip.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. If it’s too much you can let go.” Greg says softly.

Mycroft shakes his head. "I haven't touched another man in a very long time. I want to."

Greg nods. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mycroft exhales and begins to stroke Greg gently.

Greg moans, keeping his hips still so he doesn’t buck into Mycroft’s hand.

Encouraged, Mycroft strokes him firmly, kissing the man's neck.

“Oh My..” Greg’s cock starts to leak.

"Yes?" He adds a soft twist to his wrist.

“Good. So good.” Greg pants.

Mycroft nuzzles his neck, his confidence growing. "You feel so good, Gregory..."

“All yours, love. All for you.” Greg groans, getting close.

Mycroft mouths a line of kisses up the column of Greg's throat as he swipes his thumb over the head, his instincts coming back after years of no use. "Come for me, Gregory..."

Greg gasps, coming hard over his hand.

Mycroft moans softly at the feel of hot ejaculate coating his hand and rapidly cooling. He raised his head and looked at Greg with a small smile.

“Perfect.” Greg looks blissed out.

Mycroft chuckles softly, laying back against the pillows. "You look beautiful when you come."

Greg laughs softly. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He gets a tissue and wipes Mycroft’s hand clean.

Mycroft's lips quirk upwards.

“Mm?” Greg asks.

"Thank you for helping me..." He murmured.

“Of course, My. Though I think we helped each other this time.” He smiles softly.

Mycroft chuckles softly. "Mmm..."

Greg smiles. “Thank you, love.”

He leans over and kisses Greg softly.

He kisses him back gently.

"Good night, Gregory..." He murmurs, snuggling into the man's side.

“Goodnight, My.” Greg cuddles Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the first part in the Healing Mortal Wounds series! Part two coming soon!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and let us know what you think!!
> 
> Have tagging suggestions? Let me know!


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